


Tense, Tender

by chien



Category: Motorcity
Genre: Anal Sex, Frottage, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Oral Sex, motorkink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-25
Updated: 2012-08-26
Packaged: 2017-11-12 20:49:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 20,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/495495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chien/pseuds/chien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Days after the events depicted in, "The Duke of Detroit Presents," Mike is just as restless as ever due to his history as an impeccably trained cadet and the nagging feeling that Kane's next attack could happen at any moment. Realizing that unless he stepped in, Mike was going to hurt himself, Chuck tries to take Mike's mind off of their mission to take down Deluxe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sure, he wasn’t sniffing around for trouble anymore—Mike had learned his lesson after the Duke tricked them into that deadly, toxic, televised hayride—nevertheless, he couldn’t keep still. Bending forward at the waist, Mike threw his long arms out in front of him and stretched out as far as he could. No good, he still felt his body’s restless confusion under his skin.

 

His legs were tight—he found himself shaking them out every few minutes. His entire body was wound up. Mike realized he had started pacing, and a quick glance at Mutt’s spotless, waxed surface made him see that he had an openly panicked expression on his face. Wide eyed, frantic, and desperate. That’s not the face of a leader, Chilton.

 

He breathed deeply through his nose and willed the muscles in his face to relax. He had to work off this extra energy somehow—Mike dropped to his knees and positioned himself to do a few fist push-ups, but winced as soon as his knuckles touched the cold cement of the garage floor. Flipping his hands over, he curiously looked over the thin, raw skin over his joints. Did he already do fist sit-ups today? He must have done them maybe a few hours ago—these looked fairly fresh. The wounds had barely scabbed—how many push-ups did he even do?

 

Somehow, Mike’s mind was both sharp yet exhausted.

 

The leader of the Burners pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. Naps couldn’t save him anymore—that one nap after they escaped the Duke’s clutches again was the best sleep he’s had in days. At that moment, he was able to rest easy knowing he had managed to keep Motorcity safe for a few hours—fulfilling his promise to the people. A brief but pleasant nap—his body had rewarded him for a job well-done. Now that three days had passed without so much as a Kane bot or gang fight his own body was punishing himself for inactivity.

 

For most of his life, he had lived by the strict procedures set upon Kane’s finest at the academy. Even now, he was ready for the day and had his hand positioned at the ready to tap his alarm clock off by 5:59AM sharp each morning. Every single waking moment of his life had some kind of activity squeezed into it—morning roll call, training, a visiting speaker’s lecture, disciplinary chores, and maybe even sometimes an hour to himself to socialize.

 

Well, other people socialized. Mike never managed to get very close to the other cadets and academy occupants. His extra hour was often graced by an unexpected invitation by the big man himself to accompany Kane to oversee some kind of new, fantastic, innovative project for Deluxe. He was personally being groomed to be Kane’s second-in-command—possibly his successor—and there was no empty hour for Mike Chilton. Deluxe was to be his gleaming, polished pearl.

 

When he first arrived, Motorcity appeared downright horrific compared to the glittering white city that ran like clockwork above ground. The bad people ran the place, and the good people had to resort to scummy tactics just to try to stay alive. He respected the likes of Rayon—who sheltered him when he was still wandering the urban wasteland as a fresh deserter—however, he was not surprised when they were sold out by him to the Duke a few weeks ago.

 

That’s how it is down here, an elderly woman once told him while handing him a free lunch in exchange for him fighting two ruthless gang members out of her rundown shop. He swore to her that he’d never resort to those tactics just to get by, and she pointed him in the right direction to Jacob—one of the few honest, good people down in the shadows of Detroit. Someone Mike had already heard of before from Chuck during their rare lunches together in the cafeteria—some mysterious old guy who had designed almost all of Chuck’s favorite equipment and programs.

 

Mike was busy for almost the entirety of the first year he was in Motorcity. Inwardly, he was delighted. At first, he woke up bright and early to help Jacob around so that he could earn his keep. Jacob’s trust was hard to win, but worth it if only for that momentous day when he let Mike hop out of the passenger seat into the driver seat, and taught him how to drive Sasquatch.

 

After he became more familiar with the locals by cleaning up the area around Jacob’s garage and organic juice bar, he started taking odd jobs to save up for his own ride (of course, he had politely refused payment for his Robin Hood-like services—he would only accept payment for “real work”). Even with three part-time jobs—Jacob’s garage, keeping gangs out of the neighborhood, and occasionally sweeping up at the only book store in a thirty mile radius—there were even more things to do that kept his mind buzzing. Chuck kept his promise, and eventually caught up to him in Motorcity. They managed to meet new people who believed in what they believed in—protecting the weak and innocent, all the while overthrowing the tyrannical rule of Kane. The Burners were formed, as a result.

 

Everything worked out just fine for him—he went to sleep planning, dissecting, scheduling, and he woke up continuing the thoughts he had drifted off with. The only time off he had was absolutely spent in Mutt—she had become an essential part of him, and he knew he wanted to spend as much time as he could getting to know her better, with Chuck by his side.

 

This radio silence that was swallowing him up whole was too abrupt for Mike Chilton. He curled in on himself on the floor of the garage and wrapped his hands around his head, squeezing his knees together. If he had been eased into it, perhaps he wouldn’t have thrown his entire crew into the firing range of the Duke’s giant, mechanical head a few days ago. Maybe they would have only had a minor faux pas—such as getting into a scuffle with the Mama’s Boys or whatever.

 

Relax, Chilton, just relax.

 

Shut those eyes and try to get a little rest—everybody else was having a great time during this lull of activity, why can’t you do the same? Take a page from their books—Julie sent occasional hologram messages about enjoying her time off with Claire up in Deluxe. Dutch made sure he was only a day’s drive away, but had retreated to his chapel of art. Texas didn’t say anything other than, “Texaaaaaas!” as he raced off yesterday afternoon—supposedly he had left to see a 3D viewing of one of his favorite movies. “The flyer here says it’s being projected onto the side of some old six-story apartment building—wow, that _is_ impressive,” noted Chuck when he saw Mike looking around more anxiously than he usually would have at his team going this way and that on their own.

 

The tips of his fingers were white and shaking when Chuck gently touched them.

 

“AAAAAAAAAHHHHAHHHAAAHHH MIKEY IT’S JUST ME!” shrieked Chuck, falling onto his ass with one hand covering his face, his arm being held taut away in Mike’s bone-crushing grip. Mike had sprung into action without thinking, and found himself standing over Chuck. He was looming over his best friend. Mike Chilton doesn’t loom over his Chuckles.

 

His grip loosened, but he didn’t let go of Chuck’s quivering wrist. “Chuck, I’m so sorry,” and embarrassed, he didn’t say. How could he lose control of himself like that, after promising he would do his best to keep himself in check after “The Duke of Detroit Presents”? His shoulders slacked, and he slid down onto one knee and took Chuck’s throbbing arm in both of his hands.

 

The bruise was blooming in the shape of his grip. Mike softly placed his hand on top of the bruise—he couldn’t bear to look at it right now. He felt the tremor returning to his body, and couldn’t hide the trembling as his hand spasmed on top of Chuck’s wrist.

 

“Mikey—“ The cadet flinched, he didn’t deserve to be spoken to so fondly by Chuck right now, “I—I won’t lie and say it doesn’t hurt, haha.” Even though his bangs obscured his face, Mike didn’t need to see it to know that Chuck’s strained laughter was tinged with pain—one of his many coping mechanisms—through the dull sting of the purple wound spreading under his skin.

 

“…We should get something to eat. Jacob made something that looks and smells no different than his compost pile, ha.” With a slow twist of the arm, Chuck stood while pulling Mike up using a determined but light grip on Mike’s calloused hands. They stood there awkwardly for far too long, until Chuck released Mike’s wrists with a sigh. “I know you didn’t mean to,” he soothed, but Mike shoved his restless hands deep into his pants pockets—where one hand found a coin to thumb, and the other found a loose stitch to pick at. His leg started to kick—he couldn’t help it.

 

“Err, uh… hey Mutt! You wanna go for a ride, girl? Huh? You wanna?” Chuck slapped his hands onto his thighs and forced a smile—usually Mike would play along too. They’d even give her treats for being a good girl—yanno, a new decal or oil change just because. Mutt was their baby. Chuck knew he probably looked like an imbecile, crouched over baby-talking to a car while he best friend looked everywhere except at him. Chuck’s strained laughter trailed off to a groan. He slipped around behind the shorter Burner and shouldered Mike into the car, all the while excavating Mike’s fists out of his pockets. With his hip, Chuck nudged Mike to stiffly angle into his scooped, custom fit seat and perched Mike’s hands onto their usual spots.

 

“Annnd there, right where you want to be, right?” he remarked after posing Mike’s right hand on the shift, and his left on the top of the worn steering wheel. Mike blinked a few times and turned to face Chuck—only to recoil at the door being shut in his face. Chuck scrambled, slipping a few times in his frenzy on the polished cement floor, to the other side of the car and got into his seat with a flurry of long limbs. _Click!_ He held his thumb out in front of Mike’s face after he made sure the belt was secure. “Ready to go, Mikey!”

 

Mike looked a bit queasy—for the first time ever, Mutt felt foreign to him. Even when he sat in her for the first time as a jumble of parts for a theoretical car, he felt that he belonged to her and she belonged to him. Yet right now—those hands, the ones that hurt Chuck, were not his. His legs ached painfully, and he felt overwhelmed yet also as if he was experiencing his life through a haze.

 

“You don’t expect me to drive, do you?” laughed Chuck, as he nervously twisted the keys in the ignition. Mutt came alive with a low rumble—as if stirring from a nap—and the thrumming of her machinery shook Mike loose a little. His fingers drummed across the steering wheel, and he thumbed the shift curiously. Tentatively, he pumped his foot on the gas and felt a tremor up his spine.

 

He hadn’t driven Mutt for days. Mike had told himself that if he left the garage, he would surely find trouble—better to stay put with all the TV’s off and with the rest of the world blocked out from his wireless connection to Detroit. Jacob and Chuck could alert him if something big and Burner-worthy was up. Out of sight, out of mind. That’s what he hoped to achieve, knowing that if he saw so much as a kitten—mutant or not—trapped on top of a crumbling telephone pole in the background of the news, he’d be there instantly.

 

This time, he didn’t startle when Chuck’s hand crept over to lace together with his own, finger by cautious finger.  When Mike finally looked his best friend in the face for what felt like the first time in decades, Chuck had a small— and most importantly, genuine—smile on his face. “Don’t worry. I got you this time, bro. I’m here for you.” He said no more, as they both already knew what he meant to say next— “And I’ve always be here for you,” hung in the air definitively without the need to be vocalized.

 

Mike was unable to hold his own leash. This was something that Chuck had seen very clearly over the past few days, as Mike obsessively polished every lug nut in the garage and lifted so many sets of weights that he would only stop when his muscles seized up from overwork. Mike can let go a bit if Chuck would be there to reel him in—the responsibility could be dispersed a little so that Mike didn’t implode. He nodded tightly at Chuck.

 

This was going to work. Things were going to be okay. He felt as if he was no longer wrapped up like a spring—trapped with nowhere to go with the restlessness that had accumulated in him after days of sitting on his hands—and that he could actually, really breathe a little.

 

“Thanks, Chuckles,” Mike whispered, appreciatively squeezing Chuck’s hand (carefully, though, as he felt he would never forget the mark he left on Chuck’s wrist even longer after it eventually fades).

 

“Though it bears repeating, I’m so sorry—“ “I know! I got it, man!” Chuck waved him off.

 

“Mikey, we gotta get out of here fast before Jacob realizes that we’re not staying in for dinner! …In fact, I think that’s him coming out nooooow-- _Go, go, go_!” Chuck’s voice went up several octaves as Jacob’s lanky figure appeared in the garage while waving at them gaily with his oven mitts on.

 

Fast? Go? He could do that. Mike’s face screwed up into a sheepish smile. He shook his head fondly and then steeled himself for their quick getaway. “Alright girl, time for both of us to loosen up a bit—“ his left foot steadied itself on the clutch, “Let’s drive!” With a roar, Mutt lurched forward and careened out of the garage—Mike heel-toeing to downshift through the tight corner onto the main road. They couldn’t hear what Jacob was cursing at them through Chuck’s panicked screaming.

 

Chuck’s hand remained firmly under his own, without any indication of wanting to pull out from under Mike’s hand, on top of the shift, for the entire drive. They were even taking the extra-long and very dangerous way to Antonio’s. Yet Chuck’s hand stayed with Mike’s, through every fishtail, screeching stop, and car-shattering landing after each precarious ramp. A constant, comforting presence that Mike relied on to stay grounded.

 

When Mike finally pulled into the parking lot with the tires squealing beneath him— Mutt’s engine practically smoking—Mike realized that he didn’t ever want to let that hand go.


	2. Chapter 2

It didn’t occur to Chuck right away that they _weren’t_ sitting in the parking lot to wait for Mutt to cool down, and for him to catch his breath. Yanno, the usual routine after Mike risks both of their lives to get some adrenaline-fueled thrills out of their already excessively exciting lives. Chuck gulped air as if he couldn’t get enough of it, and threw his head back onto the soft padding of his personal seat—the squishiest seat he found in the junk yard that Mike helped him carry home all those months ago, so that he could squeeze himself into it while holding on for his dear life.

 

It wasn’t until he reached over to check his pulse from his wrist that he felt Mike’s grip tighten on his now extremely sweaty hand. Tensing up again?

 

“How about we get drive-thru?” Mike offered, his voice careful but friendly. While Chuck would love to peel himself out of the car and wobble over to a sticky but grounded booth at Antonio’s—though he was sure his legs would buckle and that he’d most likely tumble out of the car—they were out getting dinner like this for Mike’s sake. Still, Mike Chilton was the most considerate guy he knew. It wouldn’t hurt to hint that Chuck would really like to plant himself in something that won’t move for at least an hour. “Yanno, we just went through a _whoooole_ lotta loops back there and I don’t think I can take any more of those for maybe—I don’t know— _the rest of my life_?”

 

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to drive like that anymore tonight, I don’t know if Mutt can handle it, haha. I just don’t really want to…” his voice trailed off, as he wasn’t entirely sure if he could say, “Let go of your hand, because right now I really need you,” without Chuck freaking out. The temptation to do so was there, though. He wasn’t sure if it was the restlessness, or if this confession was a long time coming—but Mike felt that he could push past the small knot of doubt at the pit of his stomach that told him telling Chuck about his crush on him was a Very Bad Idea.

 

Not to mention, the thought of what would probably happen—Chuck’s voice hitching up as his face rapidly cycled through many different colors—was endearing to him. Everything about Chuck was endearing to him, actually. After all, he was basically enamored with the guy.

 

With a small slap, Mike covered his face with his hand. _Ah_ , there it was— he was smiling, and his face felt hot. All from just thinking about something that Chuck hasn’t even done yet.

 

“Err, you alright?” Chuck leaned towards him, peering at Mike’s burning face through his blonde bangs. The leader of the Burners shook his head wordlessly. “You’re _not_ alright?” The worry on Chuck’s face grew, and he scrambled onto his knees and pulled Mike’s hand off the shift and towards his chest. Oh, crap—don’t do that. Mike’s heart pounded so hard that he felt the pulsing throughout his body, and before he knew it the words tumbled out of his mouth so quickly that all Chuck was able to catch was the last part of Mike’s nervous word vomit,

 

“Go-out-with-me?”

 

Chuck tucked his chin in and grimaced after thinking it over with his brilliant mind. He gestured in the air—tapping his index finger at mental notes—counting and adding the sparse words Mike had uttered sporadically over the past few minutes. Meanwhile, Mike’s smile looked just as confused as Chuck felt.

 

“Wait, did you just say something to the effect of—and I’m paraphrasing here—‘I want to sneak out through the drive through because I am not alright with being seen with you _because I really don’t want to go out with you_ ’?”

 

“No!” Mike’s voice was unexpectedly hoarse as he desperately grabbed at Chuck, who started sliding back into his seat away from him. He managed to get a fistful of Chuck’s shirt—the Burner logo twisted around his scraped up knuckles—and clung to Chuck’s already trapped hand with such need that Chuck hiccupped in surprise. So much for staying in control—great going, Chilton! Totally doing a great job of squashing any chance you ever had with Chuck, considering you’re actually physically squashing him right now.

 

“Okay, hold on— _hoooold on_! Or wait, don’t? Augh—just, Mike, your hand! Dude, you’re freaking me out, here!” With much dread, Mike took a shaky breath and dropped the death grip he had on Chuck’s fingers.

 

“No, I mean—here, don’t…” Before his palm had slipped away, Chuck tugged his fingers back with a light pinch and fumbled as he laced their fingers together. Slack-jawed, Mike’s eyes moved between their hands together—Chuck, holding his hand and not the other way around!—and Chuck’s warm expression. Releasing the Burner logo, Mike eased back into the driver’s seat.

 

“There, okay. Now my fingers won’t turn blue. Now what _exactly_ are you trying to say?” Chuck enunciated carefully, “We’re best pals, Mikey—and… there’s a lot riding on what you may or may not have said, just now.”

 

Without missing a beat, Mike let his nerves do the talking. “I—well, okay, _stay with me here_ , Chuckles. Or Chuck—that may be more appropriate for right now. Chuck, we’ve been best friends for years and you and I have always had each other’s backs—all this time, through the blur of my fast-paced life I’ve always had you there to support me in some way. Even if my life was always moving much too quickly for you, you still kept pace with me as much as you could. From Deluxe, to Motorcity, to now—during this stupid lull that’s been driving me nuts. You’ve been here for me, and you’re here right now.” Scanning Chuck’s face for a reaction, Mike took the open but neutral expression on Chuck’s face as a cue to go on.

 

“But, maybe it’s a good thing, because with this lull I feel like I had some time to think. Well, no—I spent practically all of the empty time thinking about how to suppress the restlessness that came with the lull. But then _you can came in_ , and you saved me again, buddy.” Popping his fist into Chuck’s shoulder, Mike felt spurred on to continue spewing all of his thoughts out when he heard Chuck’s familiar, small laugh.

 

“Don’t get me wrong. I’ve always appreciated you—but I don’t think it was until we pulled into this parking lot that I realized that I actually _need_ you, because Chuck, you’re what gets me through everything in my life. Even when you’re not around, I could feel that you were and will be there for me, and you have never failed me in that respect. I knew that even more when I couldn’t let go of your hand.”

 

“…Uh huh,” the blonde looked thoughtful as he pressed a crooked finger to his lip, digesting what had been said. “So you didn’t want to get out of the car and eat in Antonio’s because you…?” Mike couldn’t hide his embarrassed smile, “Because… I needed to keep holding your hand. Or, to be more honest—I _wanted_ to keep holding your hand.”

 

Right. That totally makes perfect sense, coming from Mike Chilton. “ _Pbbt_!” Chuck sputtered, biting his lower lip as his shoulders pulled in from laughing. Mike waited, more and more conscious of the color deepening on his face—he was sure that he was probably patchy with red spots down to his chest, by now. Chuck appeared immensely comforted and pleased when he looked up, tears in his eyes from giggling.

 

So, Mike wasn’t ashamed of being seen alone with Chuck in public. That was very, very heartening to know. Their one-on-one time was almost always spent in the car, or at the garage. As far as the people around their area knew, the Burners almost always moved as a team unit. Even better was the other thing Mike said, but Chuck’s mind was overloaded and he wasn’t quite ready to take all of that in right this second when he was already running on empty. They had left the garage over an hour ago to get dinner that wouldn’t give them food poisoning, and Chuck needed some food _now_.

 

“Ahhhh,” Chuck heaved through a wheezy breath, “Yes, Mikey, we can get drive through so you can keep holding my hand. _You dope_. For an ex-military guy, you’re really just made of cotton candy, huh? Some kind of big cutie or something.” He slid bonelessly down his seat and pressed a finger onto the top of his cheekbone, dabbing away a tear. Mike batted an eye at ‘cutie.’ Chuck grumbled pleasantly under his breath, clearly muttering more to himself for his own benefit than for actually attempting to hold a conversation. “Gosh, and I’m usually the one who can’t express himself properly. _Haaa…_ ” Chuck dragged their joined hands towards himself and rested it on his belly, breathing out the sincere relief he felt.

 

“Now,” he said as he drummed Mike’s hand on his empty, growling stomach, “Let’s get something to eat.”

 

“But I hadn’t finished telling you everything yet.” Honestly, he was a bit disappointed—Mike Chilton liked to get things done immediately in one, swift go. Even if he wasn’t a selfish person, he worried inwardly that he would lose steam and be unable to bare himself wide open like this again if this was the end of the conversation.

 

“I know, but I’ve heard just enough to not have a heart attack, and now I just need to get some food in here before I faint from hunger. You said you’re not going to drive crazy, right? Let’s get to-go, and you pick the place to eat—I’m not sure if Jacob will be done being angry at us tonight, so it’s probably better if we get home after he’s closed up and gone to bed.” He tapped the side of his head thoughtfully with an amused smile—he may be mentally exhausted, but he had a prey-animal kind of mind that meant even at his worst he still could understand fear enough to survive.

 

That’s what he was good at—trying to keep him and Mike out of trouble, even if Mike didn’t listen much. “I’m counting on you to drive smoothly, because I need to take a nap. You know what I want to order, right?”

 

“Yeah, of course,” Mike answered, softly. He felt similarly frazzled emotionally, but the restless buzzing that left his mind and body thrumming had been replaced with the pounding of his heart.

 

“Then it’s settled—just let me rest and… process all of this for a bit, _please_. Oy.” Chuck reclined the chair as far as it could go and turned onto his side towards Mike, then made a “get on with it” motion with his free hand.

 

Mike started up Mutt as gently as possible, and eased her into the drive-through line.


	3. Chapter 3

This was nice, admittedly. On any other week, Mike would have taken this quiet moment for granted. Instead of enjoying the twinkling landscape sprawled in front of him—not stars, but smoking industrial factories, ghost towns filled with squatters, and fires from god-knows-what—he probably would have just shut his eyes and stared at the expanse of his mind. In there, he would go over the newest intel from Jules about when Kane’s next strike was going to happen, or ponder a tip-off about an upcoming gang war that they should probably break up. Now, with his hands twisting a napkin in his hand over and over, he felt he was thinking clearly. At least better than earlier today, when he couldn’t remember how many times he had tidied up around the garage.

“Hey, remember when we first came here and we couldn’t get used to the smell?” Chuck garbled, speaking around the last mouthful of pizza from the empty box settled on his lap. Motorcity had a very distinct odor throughout it that was completely foreign to their Deluxian sensibilities. They were used to the crisp sterility of their bubble up on the surface. Even if Kane himself was a mad man, Mike and Chuck did appreciate the type of technology employed up there with something resembling awe. The constant presence of the many different utility bots that shuffled around the city—in many ways, herding the people around like sheep at the same time—effectively did away with every speck of dust that drifted off of their human skin and obliterated the particularly hardy one bacteria cell that may have come in with some imported goods.

They had never seen vermin before in their lives—sure, they had heard of them. Kane knew that you couldn’t appreciate the lengths he went to in crafting his utopia unless you knew what you were being saved from. In the form of holographic videos and photos, they were able to be reminded of their salvation from the disgusting life that people outside of Deluxe had to live in—the squalor that was a reality for the rest of their shitty country and their underground neighbors.

For the first few weeks upon arrival to Motorcity, he took in the pungent scent of what real-life was with the deepest appreciation he could muster. Sure, they were hardly savory notes—but he wanted to breathe it all in as if he could fill himself with the truth of Motorcity and everything that wasn’t Deluxe. He knew it couldn’t purge him of his impurity—he understood the way people looked at him at first. Some kind of hot shot who isn’t from here. A Deluxian who thinks he could single-handedly save people who aren’t his own, who he couldn’t possibly ever understand.

Mike Chilton didn’t grow up foraging for food in toxic waste dumps, protecting sick siblings from packs of mutant dogs, or needed to live with practically the shirt on his back from being forced to evacuate every few weeks from Kane trying to stamp him and his loved ones out like roaches.

He’ll never understand what they went through, and he was honest about it. That didn’t mean that he didn’t do his best to listen and learn. They accepted that, and eventually they accepted him.

It had been almost a year since he and his squad descended into the depths of Motorcity and had taken off their helmets to gag and choke at the smell of the urban desert. They didn’t even understand what they were experiencing, at first. Now Mike knew that the confusingly sickly sweet scent that wafted around him was raw sewage. The oddly metallic mustiness in the air was from infested bogs. The dizzying smoke was from roasted garbage. Eventually, he and Chuck were able to find good smells too—such as damp wood from the skeletons of what was probably once a quaint cottage. The wood was swollen with moisture, and as they carefully stepped around the slippery moss they could hear the soft pitter patter of the leaking pipe that had collapsed on top of it.

Even better was the smell of the food that they had discovered—simple, fast food that they had never eaten before in their lives. Pizza became their favorite, even though they understood that it was just dough, sauce, and cheese. The smiles that the food joint owners gave them when Chuck would appreciatively groan as he filled his stomach with fries and soda showed that their Deluxian ignorance was at least endearing, and not blatantly offensive. They eventually stopped noticing the sticky, moist, putrid scent of Motorcity except for when they would return to it after sneaking around Deluxe for a mission—the gross smells had become the oddly comforting scent of home.

“I’d like to think that it smells better now than when we first got here,” Mike commented after inhaling a deep breath of the backdrop of his current life. That was probably true, even if big-headed to say. It was maybe only an accurate statement for the immediate area around the Burner’s jurisdiction, as they were only human in the end. Something that he had wished his former boss would realize, instead of trying to snuff out the humanity in every Deluxian through obsessive regulation.

He shifted, hearing Chuck suck in a mouthful of air—then jerked up when he heard Chuck cough and retch.

“Ugh—guh, gross! Wow, nasty. No, it’s still just as bad. _Whoooo-weeee…_ ” With a bodily thump, Chuck slapped the “B” on his chest a few times until he was sure that he managed to hack out the aroma of the decay around him.

“Hey, we did a lot of good for the people here—don’t be so negative,” Mike settled himself carefully back onto Mutt’s hood, and let his hand fall onto Chuck’s stomach. Feeling self-conscious, he nibbled on his lower lip and used that hand to flick Chuck’s collarbone that had poked out a bit under his raglan shirt.

They were still holding hands, which was actually more awkward for Mike than it was for Chuck. Eating pizza left-handed turned out to be kind of a challenge—not that it mattered to Chuck, who crammed food into his face with his usual right-hand at his usual speed. He was a little scared, actually, the first time Chuck finally pulled his sweaty hand out of his iron grip after Mike had guided Mutt to the top of the hill they were on. His fears were abated though when Chuck just took the brief moment to stretch out after his nap, and hoist the pizza box out with him as he lilted towards the front of the car. Those were certainly practical reasons to let go, right?

The sore feeling settled back into his body and he started to feel like he was going to vibrate in place, until he felt a tap on his shoulder. A freckled hand reached over in front of him, and once again their hands were settled together as he was dragged out of his precious car—kicking up clouds of dusty gravel with his boots as he stumbled—to sit on Mutt’s hood with Chuck.

The humming that rattled his bones vanished and was replaced by the heart pounding that he had already silently endured throughout the smooth drive that Chuck had slept through. Mike felt that he was trading one problem for another, but this new problem didn’t drive him crazy quite the same way. After that, he stopped sweating it when Chuck would let go of his hand to grab a milkshake from the holder set behind them near the windshield, or even to just air out their moist palms. While lazing back on their trusty car’s green hood, Mike felt Chuck’s hand lazily slither back into his grip every time.

There was truly a sense that this was going to be a new routine—a really good new routine.

However, there was still an itch that needed to be scratched. He quickly looked Chuck up and down—he looked satiated enough. No excuses, then. Mike decided to go in for the kill—courage was not an element that he lacked.

“Chuckles, are we a _thing_ now? I really don’t want to assume—I feel like there’s a lot I’ve just assumed when it comes to us, and I really don’t want to be rude here—”

There was an audible slapping sound when Chuck’s palm hit his forehead, and Mike felt like he could almost hear the squeak of skin against skin as Chuck dragged his hand down his face to his mouth. He spoke through his fingers, voice high and muffled. “Do you reaaaaally have to ask? I mean come on, we’ve _only_ been holding hands for the past few hours—“

“Yeah, you’re probably right.” Emboldened, Mike rubbed a small circle into Chuck’s skin and laughed lightly.

Relieved, Chuck wriggled a bit on the hood to find a comfortable spot and relaxed. “Well, alright then.” He let out a long, blissful “ _ahhhhhhh_ ” and resumed rubbing his full stomach.

Mike pushed himself up onto an elbow, facing his best friend who was steadily slipping into a food coma. “Can I say it then?” Chuck wasn’t going to have it that easy—Mike wasn’t about to go down without a fight. Despite how hot-headed and impulsive he may appear, there was a method to the madness. Protocols were followed for a reason. Heck, he wouldn’t be able to drift through turns on flaking metal suspended many stories in the air if he didn’t follow through the orchestrated actions to the point. There was something fulfilling about it all—the same kind of gratifying sense of accomplishment he’d get when getting through a day at the academy or finishing his patrol in Motorcity.

Chuck’s reply was garbled through a yawn. “Say what?”

“You know…” Vaguely, Mike gestured at the air while smiling bright and cheery for Chuck.

“Do you really have to? Gosh, Mikey—really?” Fingers and face turning red, Chuck plucked up his shirt collar and pushed it over his lips. For a second, Mike noted the bit of stomach that got exposed as a result. _Focus, Mike, focus_.

“What? What’s so bad about it?” It’s already a done deal, right? So why not let him have this one little thing?

“Oh I don’t know—maybe just that it’ll be super-extremely-embarrassing and awkward?” At this point, Chuck couldn’t even look at Mike—he had turned his head away and all Mike could see were his pink ears. He was practically glowing in the dark.

“What? You make it sound like I—“

“Have a tendency to be dramatic? _Yes_ , you do.” Chuck’s voice was pitchy and whiny, even when spoken through a layer of fabric.

“Me? Dramatic?” He could see the eye-rolling, even if Chuck wasn’t facing him and didn’t already have his bangs hiding most of his features. It didn’t deter him—the teasing was part of the way they messed with each other. Mutt squeaked a bit as Mike rearranged himself eagerly. The excitement within him was growing.

“You _don’t_ think it’s dramatic that we ride around in a super-decked-out-bright-green-muscle-car-that-shoots-flames-out-of-its-pipes-that-you-insist-on-revving-all-the-time?” He was talking faster—which meant Chuck was actually, truly annoyed.

“Yeah, but—“ Even when Chuck was annoyed though, it was never a bad annoyed. There was a keen quality to the way he aired his complaints at the Number One Most Probable Cause of Death for Chuck: Mike Chilton. If Mike ever promised to not do any of the things Chuck had been listing off, he was sure that Chuck would curl up with guilt and then apologize right after.

“It’s not dramatic at all to insist on taking every ramp you see while _fist pumping out the window_?” Chuck stated as if he didn’t also occasionally join in on the fist-pumping.

“Where’s the fun, then?” Mike could feel how big he was smiling. It was no mistake that he’d end up holding hands with his best friend like this. The banter reassured him of that. He loved this.

“Not to mention, you fight with some kind of chainsaw-stick-thing that glows—making it even more obnoxious than the _VRRRMM VRRRRM_ sounds it already makes!”

Now that Mike was openly laughing, Chuck’s fuming mounted. If they didn’t take their razzing down a notch, someone might actually get hurt. “Hey, now that’s—well, okay you have a point. It’s not a big deal—I just feel that it would… be more complete if I could ask you. You’re acting like I’m going to get down on one knee and _propose to you_.”

It did not go without notice that Chuck’s shoulders had jerked at the thought of Mike doing such a ridiculous thing. Unfortunately, this did give Mike some ideas.

“Alright, you’ve left me no choice,” he let go of Chuck’s hand and then held his own out in front of him—surrendering. “ _I’m gonna have to do it_.”

Spinning around, Chuck slapped himself onto the hood of Mutt with an audible thwap that left Mutt rattling. “No, _please_ don’t—“ he yelped as Mike slickly dodged out of his outstretched hands—he was only able to get a finger on the tip of Mike’s Burner jacket before it slipped out of his range completely.

“Heeere I go,” grunted the head Burner as he made a great deal of hoisting up one pant leg.

“Oh god, no—Mike Chilton, you get up right now!” Chuck’s body shook as he sucked in panicked breaths, both hands shoved into his bangs.

“On my knee now, and what’s this—a ring?” Ha, that made him look.

“That’s not a ring—is that lint? _From your pocket_?”

“Hand-picked just for you, darling.” The frayed curl of brown thread twisted around unidentifiable fibers had been the same one he had torn out earlier from bruising Chuck. Some things do work out, sort of.

Chuck’s groan was long and guttural—Mike wondered if he should start filming this. It would add to the atmosphere that they had created on the edge of a junkyard overhanging one of the few parts of Motorcity that had electrical power running through it. Really, not a bad spot to get proposed to—Mike felt that he would have been pretty pleased if Chuck had decided to propose to him on this crumbling cut-off of dirt and junk.

“This is terrible. Mikey, _you’re_ terrible.” Defeated, Chuck slid down Mutt’s hood until his legs were dangling off the front of her, and flicked the lint out of Mike’s offered hand.

The ring was gone, so Mike felt no need to continue letting his knee rest on top of a very sharp piece of god-knows-what. “You don’t want to be Chuck Chilton?” Mike was still laughing as he brushed the gravel off of his pants. “Has a nice sound to it, don’cha think?” Chuck didn’t enjoy the wink that Mike added to that question.

“That is the opposite of what that is—it sounds awful _._ Dreadful. It doesn’t have a nice sound to it at all.”

“It’s perfect. I’m so happy for you, Mr. Chilton.”

“I am not going to be Mr. Chilton! This isn’t happening…” Scrubbing his face raw, Chuck tried to will Mike away like bad dreams and monsters in the utility closet—if you can’t see or hear it, it’s not there. Please, please don’t do this.

“And you may now—” Mike planted his hands on both sides of Chuck’s legs, leaning up to meet the taller blonde.

“Mikey, _please_!” Chuck was melting—dizzy with embarrassment. He was sure he’d die if he told Mike that the shaking was from anticipation, though.

“Kiss—” Oh, gross—Mike puckered up and squinted his eyes closed.

“This-is-my-worst-nightmare- _I-can’t-believe-this-is-happening-oh-god_ —” Not like this, oh man, not like this!

Mike stopped and tilted his head to the side. “Wow, that kind of hurt.” His smile betrayed him, though.

“Don’t pretend you’re hurt, you’re loving this.” Hands clenching and unclening between the small space between their chests, Chuck breaths came out in staggered pants because he could feel the solid, warm weight of Mike’s heavier build resting on top of him.

“Where was I? Oh yeah,” Mike whispered, using one finger to lift Chuck’s bangs off of his face.

He had meant to just pop a quick kiss onto Chuck’s forehead, then save the Real Deal for later. He couldn’t though, not when Chuck squeezed his eyes shut so tightly he could see that he was forcing a tear out of his eye from strain. It was as if every bit of energy Chuck had was concentrated into his face—resulting in the endearingly goofy look he had with his eyes clamped shut and his lower lip sucked in. The freckles scattered across his features were more apparent due to the blush that looked like it would singe permanently into Chuck’s face. Mike felt legitimately concerned that Chuck might actually cry, and Mike didn’t want that at all.

So, he waited. He took a deep gulp and hovered, face inches away from Chuck’s—their bodies pressed tight together. Each swallow of breath Chuck took knocked their sternums together, a reminder that even if Chuck always did his best to keep up with Mike—sometimes he really did move too fast. This was probably a sensitive and important enough event that shouldn’t be skimmed over with assumptions that Chuck will always get up to speed with him or go along with everything. It was, after all, their first kiss together.

Sloppy make-outs typically did not happen before actually, well, _going out_. He was probably asking for too much, even if Chuck had said it was alright if he didn’t ask first. Mike wanted to know for sure though, and asking was part of that. Then after, _then_ —they could figure things out their usual way.

Chuck’s bangs were slowly released to allow them to resume curtaining his face as Mike curled his hand around to cup Chuck’s quivering jawline. His thumb soothingly stroked the bump behind Chuck’s ear— _wow_ , he could really feel the heat off of the thin skin there. Mike’s breath hitched, and he had to steady himself by groping onto the edge of Mutt’s grill that Chuck’s knees were bent over. He had to make sure Chuck was on board for this first.

Tentatively, one of Chuck’s eyes popped opened and the confusion knitted into his brows urged Mike to do something— _anything_ —before Chuck’s brain shut down

“Chuck, will you please go out with me?”

Mike used his knuckle to nudge away Chuck’s nervous tears, and rubbed his cheek with a rough thumb.

Completely exhausted, Chuck ducked his head down—his mouth opening and closing wordlessly. This was hard for the blonde—Mike was aware of all of his best friend’s habits and mannerisms. He could be patient though. He had already been patient enough, driving up all the way out here with his heart in his throat as Chuck snoozed away. This wasn’t easy for him either—he just had the benefit of building up the courage to do this that entire car ride over. Chuck couldn’t feel it with how his body acted like he was having a heart attack—there was no way he could possibly notice Mike’s strained, measured breathing when Chuck’s own lungs were probably deflating and inflating faster than what was most likely healthy.

The little signs were there though—things that Chuck would usually notice if his cardiovascular system wasn’t doing Olympic feats—such as the light perspiration dotting Mike’s forehead, or the way he couldn’t stop rubbing his thumb and index finger together, and how he carefully enunciated each and every word as if the weight of the world rested upon them.

Mike Chilton was not superhuman—he was just a young man who desperately wanted to hear his best friend say, “ _yes_.”

So caught up in his thoughts, he actually missed it when Chuck finally managed to croak it out.

“Come again?”

Chuck was done. He was so, so done with this. Chuck hollered, “Don’t be a _dick_!” and weakly punched him repeatedly in the shoulder—there wasn’t much power in the strikes due to the little space that was left between them from Mike laying on him.

“No, I’m serious—I’m sorry, I didn’t hear it. _Please_ , Chuck—“

“Yes, alright! _God_ , yes! Okay! _Mmph—_ “ Mutt shook violently when Mike threw his arms around Chuck, knocking them both back onto the hood. The sound of their collision echoed throughout her metal body—ringing into their heads as they dizzily tried to recover from the concussion Mike gave both of them when their foreheads collided.

When Mike peeled his lips off of the corner of Chuck’s mouth, he pressed the back of his hand to his teeth to check for bleeding. Nope? Okay, still good. Bewildered, Chuck laid back with his bangs unceremoniously parted across his face this way and that. He was far gone.

“…I now pronounce you Mr. Chilto—”

“NO.” Mike never finished declaring their marriage official, because Chuck finally managed to land a good one in his face. Now, he was sure, that he was bleeding a bit.


	4. Chapter 4

It only took one look. That was all Jacob needed to know he wasn’t going to touch whatever mess the two of them were in—though, honestly it didn’t take much to know what was going on. When Chuck and Mike finally stumbled into his juice bar long past noon—unheard of for ex-cadet Chilton, and still fairly unexpected for too-careful Chuck—they had clearly been up to something. The bandaid over the corner of Mike’s mouth was hard to miss. Chuck’s green and purple, hand-sized bruise on his wrist was even more eye-catching though. Green meant it was healing, at least.

While Mike was able to eventually stretch out the kinks that left him bent over so that he could assume his normal posture—a night sleeping in Mutt could do that to anyone—Chuck moved around as if every deviation from his oddly raptor-like pose was painful. Gingerly, he settled himself onto a bar stool in front of the big mugs of organic coffee that Jacob laid out for them. Alert as always, Mike pushed Chuck’s cup closer to the programmer, who crouched over the counter with a wince.

“Here, let me get that for ya,” Jacob said with a huff as he placed his hands around Chuck’s neck. With a quick twist (“GAAaah—haha…? Oh, that feels _soooo_ much better!”), he managed to crack Chuck into a more comfortable position. Chuck unwound himself soon after, popping every joint he could reach to regain most of his flexibility.

Mike sat up properly—straight and polite—then took an appreciative sip of Jacob’s special brew. If he was pulling out his boy scout manners, he was most likely getting himself ready for an apology of some sort.

“Save it, I don’t think I want to know,” hollered Jacob over his shoulder as he retreated behind the bead curtain leading to his kitchen. He didn’t care beyond knowing that Mike appeared to have finally slept in, and that the boys got home safely. While the Burners brought more excitement into his life, Jacob was far too old and busy to care about whatever Chuck and Mike were doing to receive those wounds after disappearing for a night. He cared about their wellbeing, not their hobbies and social lives. “If you’re hungry, there’s some leftovers and other things keeping warm in the toaster oven behind the counter. Morning rush weren’t too big on today’s special.” Beyond the kitchen, the buzzing sound of an old TV flickering on could be heard—Jacob had settled into his easy chair in the back as he flipped to the cooking channel. Lunch crowd would show up later, and that’s all he wanted to think about.

“Finally—I was worried that there’d be nothing left. There’s been more customers thanks to the lull—yech!” Chuck fumbled the platter that he withdrew from the tepid oven. Some kind of green, grainy mush jiggled as the plastic plate rattled on the counter top. He took a quick glance back at Mike, who had leaned over into his usual slouch. Realizing that Chuck was looking to him for some help or guidance, Mike looked up from his mug and smiled. Mike replied to Chuck’s questioning gaze with a shrug, “Food is food, right?” Throwing his head back with the cup, Mike swallowed the last bit of the black liquid and turned away to try to pick the coffee grit out of his teeth. They should get some more filters for Jacob when they find the chance, what was on their agenda for today?

Oh yeah, nothing.

He idly tapped through his messages to find nothing of substance—a videomail from Texas (“Movie was _aaaawesome_ —would have been better if Texas made it, but hey no big not everyone can be as great as Texas. Kachaw! Gonna watch it again, see you ladies some other day!”), a photo of Julie and Claire at a synthetic, sterile beach with artificial sand, and finally a short text from Dutch (“im fine”). There was that itch under his skin again, and he stopped himself from touching the remote to watch the news.

Instead, he picked the bandaid off his face and ran his textured finger pads over the tender skin. It was hardly anything—a graze, at most. Insistent, Chuck had thrown himself into Mutt and brought out the entire first aid box when he saw the blood that Mike spat out onto the ground. He tongued the inside of his cheek and felt the raw texture of a bite—he must have bit himself when Chuck’s fist connected with his jaw.  Nevertheless, Chuck fretted and made Mike go through all the steps in cleaning the wound—“Who knows what kind of mutant germs are mucking around in this dump!”—and carefully covered the irritated skin with a bandaid anyway.

Mike didn’t mind, because he liked feeling that he was being take care of and tended to. Plus, he got something else out of it. After Chuck packed away the first aid kid, he had paused with his hands rattling on the metallic top instead of clipping it shut. “It didn’t hurt that bad, Chuckles!” Mike asserted, wrapping his arms around Chuck’s smaller chest.

The expression Chuck made—Mike couldn’t help but drink it in with his head tucked over Chuck’s shoulder. Head thrown to the side, Chuck was red in the face with laughter that was mixed with embarrassment. His words shuddered when he finally spoke, “I just had to be that guy—that loser, who punches his… his _boyfriend_  like some kind of high strung nut. Oh my gosh, even I think I’m too much…” Chuck was a little pleased for landing a good blow on Mike, but was mostly mortified for realizing the extent of his social failure.

Mike took the opportunity to chance some kisses against Chuck’s bare neck. “No,” kiss, “you’re,” kiss, “not” kiss, “ _a loser_. And I don’t want to hear you say things like that about yourself. I’m sorry for braining us both—I just… really wanted to kiss you.” Swinging his head back to press his cheek onto Mike’s chin, Chuck nodded and then placed a kiss on the back of Mike’s hand that was stroking his collarbone. To Mike’s pleasant surprise—he kissed his way up Mike’s arm and then twisted around with the arm hooked over him to plant an open-mouthed, breathy kiss against Mike’s lips.

In a heated daze, Mike recounted the hundreds of kisses that had occurred after that. They didn’t stop until both of them felt like their faces hurt from necking for much longer than what was healthy. For the first time in his life, Mike felt himself dozing off while driving back to the garage—Chuck’s snoring only reminded him of how tired he was from not sleeping. As soon as he parked Mutt into her spot, Mike jerked the recliner handle and threw his chair back. He was out in seconds.

The green, translucent screen hovering in front of Mike’s face retreated quickly with a small beep after Chuck tapped it away. Mike jumped as if he had something to hide—and smiled awkwardly when Chuck eyed him suspiciously.

“Preeeetty sure you were just staring at a photo of Julie in her bathing suit for _about_ five minutes. With a big dopey grin—kind of like the one you have now, actually.” Chuck flicked Mike’s nose and planted his elbows onto the counter. He tucked one hand under his chin and used the other to flip his bangs out of his face, raising an eyebrow at Mike.

“There is,” Mike copied Chuck’s pose—tucked fist and all—and stuck a finger out into Chuck’s freckled face, “a very good reason for that!”

Smiling toothily, Chuck dropped his bangs and hoisted himself over the counter—stomach draped onto the cold, solid table—and kissed Mike with a small _smek_ sound. Mike could taste the sweetened, creamy coffee off of Chuck’s lips.

He shrugged and waved his hand around in the air at Mike’s tickled yet dumbstruck gape. “I kind of figured you were thinking about something like that, because, well…” he shied away, stuffing his hands under his armpits and looking at his feet, “I-was-thinking-about-last-night-too.” Oh, _wow_.

“Why Chuck, I didn’t know you had it in y—“

“Is there a lunch special today?”

They both startled—but Chuck took off like a rabbit while screaming with his characteristic warble, “Jacob! _Jacob_ , customer!” Gracefully, Mike swung himself over the bar to stand behind the counter and cleared the coffee cups, noting that Chuck had eaten the grainy mystery. He picked up that empty plate along with any other mess he found, and threw them into the soapy wash station in the back. Jacob passed him on the way out, swiftly tying his apron on as he shuffled to meet his first lunch patron for the day.

“Ahhhhh, welcome! I’ve got a great surprise for today’s special. If you love quinoa and acai, you’ll love this!”

They bodily ran into each other in the dim backroom (“Oof!”) and were all arms and legs for a few confused seconds. Chuck gnawed at his lower lip and picked at his piece-y hair, as awkward as ever. Throwing a quick glance over his shoulder, Mike grabbed Chuck’s hand and led him out through the back with his index finger pressed over his lip. They slipped out as quietly as they could—Mike pausing to mindfully turn off Jacob’s private TV—and jogged down the steps to get to Mutt.

Sliding into their respective sides, they both let out a breath after the doors were shut and the seatbelts were clicked in. Chuck was the first to look over at Mike, peeking at him through his bangs with a relieved but tight smile.

“What are we doing?” he snorted, suppressing a laugh.

“I— you know, I don’t really know?” Mike slapped his palm to his cheek and chuckled, “ _Hooo_ —somehow I feel like we just escaped from something?” They ran out of there like guilty kids who were caught stealing extra dessert from the academy’s cafeteria. What were they acting so secretive over? A small kiss was nothing to be ashamed of. His heart kept pumping all the same. Mike settled into his chair and patted Mutt’s bobble-head affectionately.

“So, Chuck—what do you want to do today?” Words that they had both never said to each other before—not when they had strict curriculums to attend to in Deluxe, or robots to battle in Motorcity—plus their own responsibilities and activities when separated.

“…Is make out an acceptable answer?” squeaked Chuck, his fist firmly holding a section of hair down in front of his face.

Mike had to steady himself for a moment—his body filling with heat as his heart rate increased many folds. Making out. Yes, great idea. Now would be a great time to do it, but they can’t just throw themselves at each other in the garage right now. A creaking car would probably scare away Jacob’s patrons.

Weakly, he croaked, “That, buddy, is a _very good_ answer.” Mike used his steering wheel controls to call up his messenger and found Jacob on his contact list. His fingers slipped around clumsily—resulting in many typos that took more patience than he had to fix—as he punched in a message for Jacob:

“Going to get new coffee filters—straining it with my teeth was hard.

Thanks,

Mike Chilton”

He wasn’t lying; he really meant to get those filters later. Mike was a very helpful fellow—and part of being so complaisant was being polite enough to let people know when you’re stepping out. (Disregarding last night—he wasn’t quite himself yesterday. Actually, he didn’t feel quite himself now, except he had an inkling of an idea that he was just Mike plus Chuck now—a bit more stable than before, and most certainly happier.)

Thank goodness the closest store to supply coffee filters was so very far away. Mutt lurched unattractively when Mike’s timing was off to shift—and he felt his cheeks burn at Chuck snorting at his mistake. He managed to get it on the second try though, and turned out of the lot so hard he threw Chuck around in his seat (“ _Miiiikey_ ,” he whined loud and worried). God, he was so in love—with Mutt, Motorcity, and most of all _Chuck_. Mike finally managed to feel at ease, even without Kane bots shooting lasers at him.


	5. Chapter 5

All the screaming that Chuck did to the store was worth it now that the coffee filters had been loaded into the back with a few other things they picked out (such as a crusty video game with a torn label— Mike looked forward to finding out what game it was after they wash out the grunge later and pop it into the console) for the expected long, empty silence of Kane continuing his quiet plotting of something surely sinister. Their speed never went below 550 MPH—meaning that Mike and Chuck only had to heatedly ignore each other for about twenty minutes.

A fair distance away from the nearest town and under what was left of an old highway, Mike parked the car somewhere quiet, dark, and most of all unoccupied. He knew where most of the local gangs and spybots hung out, so it wasn’t too hard to find somewhere to kiss his boyfriend without being disturbed.

The pounding in his head making him dizzy, Mike unclicked his belt and then sloppily crawled over the center panel. Chuck met him half-way, grabbing him behind the ears roughly (“ _Oh_ ,” Mike said as he threw his knee over Chuck’s hip) only to falter right before their lips touched. Mike endured, breath catching in his throat, and shuddered when Chuck exhaled nervously against him. Turning his head ever so slightly, Chuck’s lips softly brushed Mike’s—as if he was studying the way they felt against his. He nuzzled, sighing when Mike drew his fingers down the sides of his blue raglan shirt.

It’s not that he didn’t do slow—there were multiple settings to Mike, and not all of them were in the fast range. However, he wasn’t sure if he was going to be able to sit through the painfully indulgent way Chuck mouthed his lips and the breathy sounds he was making. Chuck’s thorough examination of every sensation that he could draw out from kissing Mike was amazing, but Mike was, as he asserted a few days ago, “wired for action.” When Chuck lapped at Mike’s tongue lazily—the impulse to shove him into the door and stick his tongue down Chuck’s throat shook Mike to the core. Mike tried to compromise.

Deepening the kiss carefully, Mike sat up and used his hands to tilt Chuck’s head back—taking hot pleasure from the small “ _mmph_ ” that Chuck mumbled around his lips. He sucked and bit, tugging on Chuck’s lower lip with his teeth.  The hairs stood up on the back of his neck when Chuck moaned and ignited him deep down inside in a place he hadn’t explored in a while. It spurred him on, though. Mike felt that his new mission was to find all the ways he could make Chuck moan more—turning the tables on them. While Mike had been shaking with anticipation when he sat stock-still for Chuck to poke around in his mouth, Chuck was now the one shuddering as Mike roughly crushed their lips together, tongue darting around.

“A- _ahh_ ,” Chuck panted, feeling the pleasurable tremors rolling through his body as Mike nosed him roughly to take quick breaths between kisses. His eyes rolled back at the pleasantly scratchy sensation of Mike’s stubble scraping over his now sensitized skin.

Chuck’s hands were balled up and pressed against Mike’s chest. Mike was good at recognizing opportunities—it’s what made him such a good leader who managed to not get the Burners killed every other day. He guided Chuck’s aimless hands down to his hips and spread Chuck’s fingers out so that he could grip him. Splaying his own fingers over Chuck’s bony hips, Mike stopped licking Chuck’s teeth for a second to measure Chuck’s reaction. He slipped a finger under the bottom of Chuck’s dumb shirt—the damn thing was always sliding up somehow, revealing that stupid but distractingly sexy strip of Chuck’s pale stomach during the worst moments during missions—and stroked the hot skin he found there.

“Is this okay, Chuckles?” questioned Mike, not daring to go more than an inch further as his finger probed the freckles on Chuck’s skin. Chuck had sucked in his lips and closed his eyes again—he nodded firmly and his hands twitched on Mike’s hips.

“C-can I feel you too?”

“That’s,” Mike bit back a moan as he let his hands wander with Chuck’s permission—he was drunk with excitement as his fingers skimmed over Chuck’s ribs, “the _idea_.” For his own sake, he stopped below Chuck’s pecs and skirted his hands behind Chuck, sliding his hands up and down Chuck’s back. The blonde jerked beneath him, whimpering. No one had ever felt his skin like this before.

He wore a one-piece that covered most of his body when out swimming in the lake, so he didn’t need anyone’s help to spread just-in-case sunscreen over the only exposed parts of his body—his arms and legs. He felt a bit scared now, with Mike’s fingers dipping into the small of his back. Without even looking, Chuck knew that Mike was probably as stunning shirtless as he is usually—however, he’s Chuck.

He’s all limbs and freckles, with not much else going on. What did Mike think of his angular physique?  Especially now, as Chuck cautiously squeezed the solid muscle that Mike was wrapped in. Chuck regretted not joining in when he watched Texas and Mike lift together. He could have at least grabbed some dumbbells so he wouldn’t be this embarrassed to have someone experience what was possibly the most underwhelming body in all of Motorcity. No—Mike told him to not think so poorly of himself. Chuck swallowed, and focused on the task at hand. That turned out to be harder than he expected, because he soon lost himself to Mike’s gentle touch. His breathing picked up immediately when Mike slumped forward. Choking back a sob, Chuck felt lost in pleasure as Mike breathed deeply against him, then yelped in surprise at the brush of Mike’s fingers against his nipples. Moaning low and husky, Chuck heard what may have been Mike cursing—it was hard to tell though, because Mike’s words were muffled into Chuck’s chest.

Reeling, Mike pressed his forehead into the dip in Chuck’s neck. He weakly turned his head to mouth Chuck’s neck, groaning—the vibrations of his gravelly voice making Chuck’s eyelids flutter and his body quake.

He cried out when Mike nipped at his neck, holding him in place with his other hand to determinedly suck on the small spot he had marked.  Chuck’s cries became louder and louder as Mike’s calloused fingers rubbed at his nipples, not letting go of Chuck with his mouth. Mike sagged when he pulled away, and his eyes followed Chuck’s fingers as he curiously traced the hickey with a trembling hand. Dazed, Chuck fingered the red spot, head heavy with his bangs sticking to his sweaty face.

Then Chuck did something that cemented Mike’s humming, growing arousal. Chuck clasped his hand over the hickey—as if somehow, he could keep it by holding it in his hand—and smiled sweetly with his eyes half-open through his bangs. He was delighting over the ordinary love bite, as if it was a present given to him by Mike. That little smile—Mike felt his nerves light up, and he forced himself to ease off of Chuck’s lap and covered his eyes with his hands.

“Chuck, Chuckles—we… _we need to stop_.” His jeans were uncomfortably tight—there was no hiding his engorged bulge. Mike pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to calm down, but he felt Chuck’s eyes on him—and it turned him on _more_.

“…What if I don’t want to stop?” Chuck suggested, his voice careful and low.

“You know what will happen, right?” Mike didn’t deny that he really, really would love to get off with Chuck’s help right now—however, considering how he’s already bruised, bitten, and sucked the breath of Chuck within the past twenty-four hours, he wasn’t sure if it was the experience Chuck would be expecting. Maybe if this had happened some other time—then they could sluggishly fuck in Mike’s bed and then eat take-out afterwards. However, if they do it now Mike was sure that unless Chuck kept him collared, he would probably pound Chuck _raw_.

His thoughts weren’t helping his situation at all—god, he felt so hot already.

“I… I want it to h-happen,” Chuck admitted shakily, face red and hot as he dragged a wet tongue across his lower lip while staring at Mike’s erection. Mike felt his cock jump at the attention.

“ _Oh my god_ ,” Mike hissed. He betrayed himself by bucking when Chuck traced the shape of Mike’s arousal in his jeans with a curious finger. “Shit,” he quaked. Through the corner of his eye, he saw Chuck gnawing on his lip with desire, hand palming his own bulge through his thick jeans.

“ _Okay_ , okay. Umm,” Mike stammered, searching around aimlessly as he tried to keep his thoughts coherent, “I’m going to drive really fast. Like  _really, really fast_. So just… wait, and hold on.” He knew he probably looked incredibly un-cool as he hastily struggled into his seat and started up Mutt, but he was no longer thinking with his head.


	6. Chapter 6

They straightened themselves up as much as they could before entering the lobby of Rayon’s motel. Mike was fairly good at hiding the chaste kisses they shared as soon as they parked, but inwardly he worried that his deafeningly loud, rapid heartbeat could be heard by others as clearly as he heard it. It was a silly thought, but hard to push out of his mind when Mike felt like he was having the worst migraine he had ever had and that his heart was going to burst out of his chest.

Chuck kept his hands crossed—one hand covering the hickey on his neck—as he followed behind Mike. His legs were shaking from more than the ridiculously dangerous driving Mike pulled to get there as fast as Mutt could take them. Keeping his eyes trained onto the back of Mike’s heels, Chuck had a feeling that Rayon would know exactly why they were there if he made eye contact with him—Rayon was as sharp as a knife. Luckily, Rayon was a man who owed them a favor for selling them out to the Duke a few weeks ago. Chuck took one quick glance at the large one symbol printed on Rayon’s back and looked down.

 

Straightening his blue tie, Rayon suavely turned to meet them in the dimly-lit but colorful lobby. “What can I do for you gentlemen this evening?”

 

There were still tinges of red upon Mike’s complexion—Chuck worried over these details while chewing on a nail. The tips of Mike’s ears were clearly flushed, and that could be a dead giveaway. Mike cleared his throat and stuck out his hand, offering his signature warm smile to their long-time custom parts patron, “Rayon—we would like a room for the night, please.”

 

Smiling pleasantly in response, Rayon merely stuck out his arm towards the hallway that led to the inner stairwell. Rayon kept his sunglasses on even during evening hours—Mike could hardly get a read of his expression, despite being able to understand all of Chuck’s expressions without seeing Chuck’s eyes. However, he felt that there was nothing to be suspicious of tonight when it came to their alliances.

 

“Come on, Chuck,” he swung an arm around Chuck’s shoulders—eliciting a squeak from the shaky programmer—and nodded at one of Rayon’s staff meeting them promptly with a key in-hand. They went up the stairs to the highest floor, while Mike stroked Chuck’s trembling form with his fingers.

 

Mike whistled with appreciation when they entered the suite—the same large room that they had hid out in when on the run from bounty hunters. Rayon really was doing them a solid here.  After the staff member—who had a number three printed on his back—was able to determine that everything was satisfactory, he handed Mike the key and then left without another word.

 

They waited until they were sure he was out of earshot, but could wait no longer after that. Mike had expected to whip around and grab Chuck by the ears to drag his teeth across his freckled skin. Instead, he felt Chuck’s long arms slip around his waist from behind him as soon as the coast was clear. Chuck’s mouth pressed hot against the back Mike’s neck below his hairline, and his lips traveled hungrily across the skin until they found Mike’s ear. His mouth fell open when he felt the hot, slippery sensation of Chuck sucking on his earlobe—teeth tugging politely on the soft flesh—and Mike answered with a pained groan. He reached back, holding Chuck in place.

 

Clumsily, they stumbled backwards—running into the coffee table by the couch and also possibly skinning Mike’s outstretched elbow on the textured edge of a framed painting—until they safely fell onto the full-size bed. A bed, good—right, they were not going to make out forever. _Chuck_ wanted to have sex.

 

Sex. Mike felt his entire body instantly flare up with heat when he remembered that they were checked in at a motel away from the rest of the world for a reason. That this all started because the quaking in his bones were driving him so mad that Chuck had to drag him away from the garage for his own safety—and that because Chuck took care of him, they were here now.

 

With renewed fervor and focus, Mike rolled them over so that Chuck was on top of him and swept Chuck’s bangs into his fist, tugging his head back with the blonde locks to bare Chuck’s neck. Mike sunk his teeth into the exposed skin with a stifled moan. Sorry, Chuck—he was doing to his best to remain leashed, but this is probably the extent of his self-control.

 

Chuck was made of harder stuff than he looked—while the pinch of Mike’s teeth digging firmly into his skin made him hiss, he felt his arousal spike with the adrenaline from the sudden bite. He sobbed helplessly, bewildered at the tender probing of Mike’s tongue along the bite mark. He now had two hickeys, and there was maybe more to come. He couldn’t complain though, Mike leaving his mark on his body turned Chuck on more. Being branded by Mike’s lust—Chuck felt himself clench with desire.

 

“Mmm, salty,” Mike mumbled as he wetly mouthed the wounded skin, his hands loosening in Chuck’s hair so that they may explore the rest of Chuck’s shaking, pale body. He was more than a bit disappointed when he felt Chuck scramble up and away from him—Mike’s hands groped at the air, his itch for contact was almost more important than maintaining his usual considerate nature. “Do you—” Chuck gasped, “e-er… we should maybe take a bath, then?”

 

“Ummm,” was all Mike could manage as he blinked a few times. He hadn’t really thought about that—he wasn’t really doing much thinking at all, actually. “Mikey, we haven’t actually, yanno, _bathed_ in over twenty-four hours. We even made out in a junkyard for most of last night, ugh.” Plucking at his shirt, Chuck grimaced.

 

Bath. People take their clothes off to take baths, right? Naked is good. “Can we… take the bath together?” Mike hoped that he said that with less desperation than he truly felt. Seeing Chuck naked was suddenly on the top of his list of “Things I Absolutely Must Do,” and Mike was good with lists.

 

Chuck shrunk back with embarrassment and hid behind his bangs again, “I—I’d like that, if that was okay with you.”

 

“Okay, got it. Let’s go.” Chuck, naked, soon— _now_. His mind still wasn’t working too great, so Mike stuck his hand out into Chuck’s face in a thumbs-up gesture and gave him a big smile.

 

“Ha, right—let’s…  go!” Lamely, Chuck stuck out his thumb too—or would have, if Mike didn’t bodily roll up and use the momentum to scoop Chuck up into his arms. A few wobbly, giggly steps later, they were in the glittery, retro-style bathroom that was so kitschy it was endearing. Chuck was still busy kissing Mike’s face—his forehead, nose, cheeks, eyelids, anything he could get his mouth on because he loved all of Mike—when he was set down on the edge of the tub.

 

Chuck saw a whole lot of skin a whole lot faster than he could have ever predicted with all of his calculations, charts, and notes.

 

He didn’t snap out of his stupor—Chuck had been gawking at the expanse of Mike’s toned, scarred body—until Mike had cast aside the rest of his clothes onto the tile floor and had bent over, thumbs hooked under the waistband of his tented boxer briefs. Chuck tried to say, “Hold on, wait, what’s the rush, _Mike_ , I, oh my gosh!“ but he sputtered incoherently while waving his arms around in front of him. Luckily, Mike spoke Chuck’s language and peeked at him with an amused but strained smile.

 

“Can I help you?” Mike said through his teeth, leaning in towards Chuck eagerly. Chuck tried not to stare at the wet spot that had formed on Mike’s underwear—precome, _Christ_.

 

Looking for any excuse to stall, Chuck kicked off his shoes and socks and planted his feet into the tub. “I, uh—water, first?” He twisted the knobs to fill the tub and clutched at his chest. Mike was standing behind him in just his boxer briefs. Mike’s wearing freakin’ boxer briefs—and he looks _hot_. More hot than usual, because he was practically naked and _leaking_ at the thought of fucking Chuck. Oh, geez. What underwear was he wearing today? Probably plain, cotton boxers—at least he wasn’t wearing white briefs. That would be the worst, absolute worst. The uncertain panic started settling in as Chuck pretended to adjust the water temperature while the tub filled. He was busy mentally ticking off what briefs he was sure he had already worn this week and what was left in his inventory before laundry day, when suddenly—

 

“Chuckles, think fast!”

 

“Huh—“

 

_Splash!_

 

With just the light push of his palm into a well-placed spot on Chuck’s back, Mike had managed to tip Chuck into large tub. The water was only a few inches up, but quickly soaked into the bottom of Chuck’s clothes.

 

Mike tapped Chuck in the middle of his forehead. “You worry too much.”

 

“I… worry just the right amount! Awww, Mikey— _the water_!” Meticulous as always, Chuck unstopped the drain and shut off the water. His dusty clothes had turned the water grey quickly. Chuck slipped around a bit as he attempted to rise out of the deep tub, and sighed when Mike’s helpful, familiar hands helped steady him. Mike’s soft lips were on his neck again, and Chuck braced himself for another nip. Instead, Mike nuzzled his nose into Chuck’s cheek and then kissed him on the side of his mouth. The comforting gesture was enough for Chuck to know what Mike was asking—“Why are you worried?”

 

“Chuck, you don’t have to hide from me—I think you’re amazing,” he started, voice low and raspy. “If there’s something you don’t want me to see, though…” Of course Mike wanted to do this—was dying to do this—but he wouldn’t be able to go through with it unless Chuck was there 100% of the way.

 

He had lingering doubts, but those words—“amazing”—were deeply appreciated it. Mike was generous with the compliments—always had been, probably always will be. Chuck did feel awesome when Mike said he was, and he knew that deep down inside he probably _was_ awesome. It helped that Mike was genuine when it came to Chuck—none of the compliments Mike showered him with throughout the day were empty praises. Mike would never do that to him. Besides, if Mike didn’t want Chuck as badly as Chuck wanted him, they would have both stopped necking ages ago.

 

Chuck took a shaky breath and then separated himself from Mike’s comforting embrace. He held out a hand to stop Mike’s question, and peeled off his sticky shirt in one go. That was the easy part. Leaning his back against the side of the tub, he undid the front of his pants and wriggled out of the water-soaked denim. It chafed a bit, but they were off. Balling them up with tight hands, Chuck tossed them onto the floor where they landed with a squishy _shlop_.

 

Mike folded his arms over the edge of the tub and settled onto his heels, eyeing Chuck while chewing on his lower lip. He could clearly see the outline—heck, even the swollen color—of Chuck’s erection under the thin layer of soaked cotton that clung wetly to his form. The obscene lump of Chuck’s wet, half-hard dick made Mike’s head swim, and his mind immediately jumped to thoughts of making Chuck wetter and harder.

 

He stared openly as Chuck leaned onto his knees and shimmied his underwear off. With a wet slap, Chuck’s soaked briefs hit Mike’s chest and then landed onto the ground.

 

“There, we’re even.” Chuck snorted, crossing his arms across his bare chest.

 

“So we are.”

 

Chuck felt his heart melt at that dumb, fond smile of Mike’s again. He stopped the drain and turned the water back on.

 

“Now get those off, and get in here.”

 

“With,” Mike slipped out of his tight, tight underwear and tossed them into the jumble of clothes, “pleasure.”

 

They could probably make out and grind for the rest of the night, just like this, Chuck thought dreamily as he moaned into Mike’s mouth. Mike’s body fit nicely into Chuck’s, and the shape of the tub was made for relaxing in. Guided by the soft pressure of Mike’s body, Chuck eased his back onto the sloped side of the tub. The hot water sloshed around them, and he felt the heat help him relax.

 

“Ah—you’re…” he couldn’t find the words for a second, “Your dick, it’s _touching_ me.” The firm yet soft flesh of Mike’s erection—he shuddered as he felt Mike’s cock twitch against him, pressed into Chuck’s thigh.

 

“Yeah,” Mike laughed weakly, “I guess it is.” Gasping in surprise, Mike shook visibly when Chuck rocked his hips up to rub the head of his erection into Mike’s crotch.

 

Chuck snorted and smiled thinly, pumping his hips up again shyly so that the head of his erection would slide against the surface of Mike’s slippery skin. “I just thought of something really stupid.”

 

“Y-yeah?” stammered Mike, his eyes fixed on the incredible sight below him—Chuck willingly rubbing up against him, naked in a bathtub.

 

“Don’t laugh but… it seemed like something you’d like.”

 

“ _Try me_ , Chuckles,” Mike pushed while kissing Chuck’s wet bangs. Chuck himself wanted this. It’s okay if he moves a little, right?

 

Chuck leered, “’Take me for a _ride_ , Mr. Chilton.’”

 

Oh _fuck_. Mike hissed viciously and gave into his need. Digging his hands into Chuck’s hips to hold him in place, Mike ground down hard—savoring the surprised but pleasant sound Chuck made from the friction. The water splashed around them noisily as it climbed the walls of the tub as Mike shoved his hips again and again—drinking in Chuck’s pants and whimpers with messy kisses and bites. God, he was grinding endlessly into Chuck without abandon and it still wasn’t enough.

 

“Chuck, I-I… _nngh_ ,” moaned Mike, as he scooped Chuck into his arms and slipped around in the tub urgently, trying to get into a position—any position—that would help him satisfy his longing. Chuck clung to him desperately and shifted with him—cracking his knee into the side of the tub with a yelp. After much awkward shifting and slipping around (“Ack, sorry, sorry!” “No, it’s okay, just— _here_ …”), Mike managed to hug Chuck’s knees to his own chest with his legs tucked under Chuck’s hips.

 

He excused himself under his breath as he wrapped Chuck’s legs together tightly and felt his erection rub against the furrow formed between Chuck’s shut thighs. The water was up to their chests now—high enough—so he twisted around quickly to shut it off and unwrapped a package of tiny motel soap while he was there.

 

“Umm, Mike, are you…?” Chuck questioned, watching Mike form a thick lather between his hands. Most of the soap stayed on the surface of the water when Mike dipped his hands in, but there was enough dissolved soap on his hands for him to slick himself up as a precaution.

 

“I’m trying something, if that’s alright,” he said as he re-positioned himself to come at it from a better angle, and then slowly pushed.

 

“A- _ahhh_ , it’s so…” Mike quaked, as the head of his erection easily slipped into the small, tight space. Chuck hummed curiously, unable to look away from Mike’s intense gaze. “It’s tight. It’s _so tight_ , and god Chuck you’re so f-fucking sexy. You don’t even know—which makes it worse,” he laughed brokenly, stroking up and down Chuck’s delicious legs that he had wanted to run his hands up and down for so long.

 

There was plenty of soap and water to let him continue to glide his cock into the gap until he felt himself bump into Chuck’s erection.  He peeked over Chuck’s knees and marveled at Chuck’s pleasured trembling—mouth opened wide and lips wet and bitten as he wordlessly panted with drunken pleasure—as Mike slid back a bit only to shove forward again. The head of his erection rubbed against the underside of Chuck’s. It was ticklish but so good, Chuck thought as he writhed under Mike’s attention, teeth running over the joint of his index finger as he shyly enjoyed the way Mike worshipped him.

 

“God, Chuck, the things you _do_ to me…” hissed Mike as he nosed Chuck’s knees and experimentally thrust his hips shallowly so that he could nudge Chuck again and again—their slippery cocks rubbing against each other. Whimpering, Chuck tried to squeeze his thighs harder, drawing an appreciative grunt from Mike as his swollen member sent electric pangs of pleasure throughout his body from the increased friction and pressure.

 

He aimed each thrust, making sure to rub Chuck just the right way each time he pumped his cock between those long, slippery thighs of his. The water slapped around them noisily, splashing over the edge of the tub and soaking their clothes on the floor—Mike didn’t care though. His thoughts were scattered and vague as he fucked Chuck’s thighs faster and faster, hugging Chuck’s legs firmly against him as he growled. He felt himself grow harder and his body hotter, his arousal feeding on Chuck’s yelps that soon turned to screams when Mike started jacking him roughly with what was left of the soap on his hands.

  
“Mikey, Muh-Mike, _please_ , oh my god—you’re gonna, you’re g-gonna—!”

 

Shit, he felt so close. Mike raggedly sat up—shoving Chuck up and back against the lip of the tub so that they were both half-out of the water—and plunged himself harder and harder in-between his best friend’s thighs. Chuck groaned in response to each thrust, hands gripping the edge of the tub tightly as he held on for dear life. The water violently broke around them as Mike bucked helplessly—“F-fuck, Chuck, I-I’m _coming_ , nnngh,” — and came messily onto Chuck’s damp stomach. He froze and threw his head back, crying out desperately as his much needed release shook him as he painted Chuck’s pale skin with his sticky cum. He collapsed—water sucking them back in—bringing Chuck down with him.

 

Mike breathed out long and hard, dazed from his orgasm, and then scolded himself for forgetting his manners. However, when he wrapped his hands around Chuck’s dick, he realized that it was half-hard and Chuck was wincing.

 

“I, um, already…—geez, _this is so_ …” whimpered Chuck, his body convulsing from Mike’s confused strokes. Ah, he got it now. Mike broke up, but his laugh felt foreign—there was a cruel undertone to it that scared him. He waved the thought away as he tenderly kissed Chuck’s cheek. Laying back limply, Mike let himself go so he could feel himself floating in the dirty water.

 

“Mike, is it okay if we, er,” stammered Chuck, wringing his hands around his soaked bangs. Mike listened to the pitter patter of the squeezed out water joining the filled tub. “Can we do more?”

 

Mike’s eyes shot open and he bobbed in place as the water carried him, considering how he’d managed to be so fucking lucky to not only get to date Chuck, but to have Chuck be asking him—polite as all hell—to _fuck him_. Before Chuck started babbling apologies and excuses, Mike scrambled up—arms wind-milling, thrashing water everywhere—and grabbed Chuck by his shoulders. They gaped at each other—Chuck’s expression full of fear and surprise, and Mike’s expression full of hunger and joy.

 

“Yes, _absolutely_ , yes. God, Chuck I didn’t know you—“

 

Offended, Chuck shrugged Mike’s hands off. “Hey, I-I’m healthy, okay!”

 

“I know, but—wow, I wish we had known sooner. Shit.”  Ignoring Chuck’s protests, Mike hugged Chuck close to him and kissed him frantically, letting go of him only after he had spent many minutes absorbing Chuck’s annoyed, muffled grunts with his mouth and punches to the chest. Finally, he let go of Chuck’s raw lips with a small pop.

 

“More, _yes_ , I can do that.” Mike finished, rubbing the side of his face against Chuck’s sideburns—cozy and full of love.

 

“Okay, okay!” bossed Chuck, running his hands through Mike’s slicked back hair—stroking him like a pet. “First, we gotta get clean—and I need at least another ten minutes to, y-yanno...” He coughed while looking away, flustered.

 

“Right, of course. Me too.” Mike added, yanking out the stop for the tub again.


	7. Chapter 7

Their wrung-out clothes hung over the edges of the tub and the top of the shower curtain rod, dripping dry in the empty bathroom. Chuck had decided that it was a mess he could stand to leave alone for a while, because Mike Chilton was on the mind and there were other things he’d wanted—no, needed—to do. Admittedly, he probably needed to tend to Mike first if he was to prioritize tasks, because Mike’s hyperactivity was starting to ebb back as Mike’s mind wandered back to stressful matters.

 

They were in this together, Chuck had said earlier while scrubbing shampoo into Mike’s hair. He looked embarrassed, hiding beneath the foam, and asked him multiple times if Chuck was really, really okay with this. For the last time, Chuck had reminded him, yes—he wanted this too. Sure, he didn’t imagine that the first time he’d have sex with Mike he would end up _marathoning_ sex. Still, fatigue aside, he admitted briskly that sex is good and Mike is great so how-could-this-end-up-being-a-bad-thing? Mike had kissed him, again. A new habit that Chuck didn’t mind at all.

 

“Chuck, what are you—“ Mike stepped back when Chuck hooked his finger into the towel wrapped around Mike’s waist and loosened it, letting it fall to the floor.

 

“I’m trying something too,” he interrupted, settling down onto his knees determinedly. The lights were off, but they were close to the floor to ceiling window of the suite. There was just enough light from the neon motel sign and lonely streetlamp on the desolate road outside Rayon’s establishment for Chuck to see the outline of Mike’s limp penis.

 

Without looking up, Chuck knew that Mike was staring at him hazily—he could feel it from how stiff Mike was standing as Chuck inspected the soft lump of flesh in front of him. He liked the attention, Chuck thought as he flattened his tongue against the length of Mike and sucked on the skin.

 

Mike made him feel sexy.

 

It was pleasant, actually. Chuck had never given anyone a blowjob before. The opportunity just never came up. He wasn’t repulsed by the thought of it. Mike smelled clean, and it didn’t taste that much different from the rest of Mike’s skin that he had licked and kissed already. Mike grunted as Chuck lapped wetly—teasing the now half-hard cock with a firm tongue.

 

“W-wow,” stammered Mike. Playfully, Chuck pressed his lips against the wetted flesh and murmured, “Wait till you see what comes next.” The vibrations caused Mike to shudder, and his chest rose and fell with anticipation.

 

Chuck wrapped his lips around Mike and sucked—he had a feeling it’d be easier to take all of Mike in now before he was fully erect. Chuck was awarded by Mike giving in to the sensation, and he felt the hairs prick up on the back of his neck when Mike shoved his hands into Chuck’s hair and moaned long and low. His mouth filled as Mike’s body pumped hot blood into his erection, and Chuck slobbered messily as he eased it out to a manageable amount.

 

Curiously, Chuck slipped a hand up the inside of Mike’s thigh until his knuckle was nudging Mike behind his balls. This elicited a sweet, high noise that he hadn’t heard before. Chuck let Mike’s erection fall out of his mouth—dragging a trail of saliva down the side of his chin—and then stretched his mouth around Mike’s sack. The warmth of Chuck’s mouth around him made Mike tremble deliciously, and he rejoiced quietly over the developments their relationship had undergone. Then Chuck was gone, and the air felt cold over his wet skin.

 

Before he could bitterly object to Chuck teasing him, Mike’s voice caught in his throat from the delectable new pressure around his penis that sent shivers up his spine. Chuck choked Mike’s erection at the base and squinted—he wasn’t sure if Mike liked the same things that Chuck liked when it came to hand jobs, but it was hopefully a step in the right direction. Chuck hadn’t had the time to develop that much experience in having sex with people other than his own hand—he was busy doing the things seventeen-year-old guys like him liked doing, like LARP-ing or hacking security systems.

 

“Is this alright?” he questioned worriedly, then gently tongued the sensitive spot wetly underneath the head. Mike twisted around, his mouth wide open yet no sound came out. Chuck always liked teasing himself right there with plenty of slippery lube, so at least that hunch was right. Nodding furiously, Mike had shut his eyes—he wasn’t sure if he was going to last if he looked at Chuck’s red, freckled face as he bobbed his head up and down on his dick. Just imagining it was making his heart race like crazy, and while he would love to paint Chuck’s face _now_ with hot cum, he knew it would be far more rewarding if he allowed Chuck to torture him with anticipation. Clear pre-cum beaded up on the slit, and dripped thickly onto Chuck’s nose as he dug his tongue into the dip right below the crown of the penis.

 

“Oh,” Chuck remarked plainly, and Mike felt his face burn up. He glanced down when he saw Chuck pull off of him just in time to see him use the back of his hand to wipe the sticky dew off of his face. His breathing caught in his throat as Chuck flicked his tongue onto the smeared mess spread across his knuckles. It was salty, and maybe a tiny bit sour—a lot like his own pre-cum, actually. Chuck was lost in his own thoughts—forgetting his task at hand at the moment—until Mike whined with need and used his hands to push Chuck’s face back into his crotch.

 

“Please, Chuck, p-please… don’t stop, god, please don’t stop.” Mike Chilton was _begging_. Holy crap.

 

Chuck flushed—but Mike’s hands on him and eager need for _Chuck to suck him off_ made him feel powerful and aroused. Knowing Mike, he would probably like it faster, right? Chuck mused as he noisily slurped up as much of Mike as he could, his fingers pressing into Mike’s perineum. Trying to keep his teeth out of the way, Chuck slid up and down Mike’s shaft with increasing speed. He kept his hand curled around the base, squeezing in rhythm with the movements of his mouth.

 

The harsh, squelching wet sounds of Chuck sucking him in and out drove Mike _mad_ —he couldn’t keep his legs still anymore as he squirmed, head swimming with the overwhelmingly good and vulgar stimulation. Even though he was well-known as a good boy, Mike secretly loved naughty stuff like this—though he was sure it wasn’t nearly as kinky compared to other people’s fetishes. He did have a few, darker kinks—maybe Chuck would be willing to share in them, next time?

 

His pulse quickened suddenly as he felt his body tighten—Mike yanked Chuck’s mouth off of him, snarling as he felt Chuck’s teeth scratch him from the unexpected movement. Finally, his legs gave out—he came down weakly and laughed, scratchy and harsh-sounding.

 

“You’re gonna make me cum,” he slurred shakily.

 

Chuck gave him a look that clearly meant, “Stupid, that’s the idea.” Mike snorted and yanked Chuck’s head back by his hair, taking the opportunity to kiss him furiously when Chuck’s mouth fell open to cry out from the sharp pain. He shoved his tongue into Chuck’s mouth, making sure to viciously claim the blonde’s mouth until Chuck and him were both breathless.

 

“Mmmrgh, Mike, wh-what’s the big idea?” he huffed, pouting. He thought he was doing a pretty good job, thank you very much. Why stop?

 

“Chuck, I want to—fuck, can I cum inside of you?”

 

_Oh._


	8. Chapter 8

They didn’t have any lubricant, and they were honestly too embarrassed to go ask for some from the front desk where it was surely being sold. Actually, more like Chuck was too embarrassed for both of them—he had hugged Mike’s ankles when the leader of the Burners stood up much too casually to go purchase some. The eyebrow Mike raised behind his thick curtain of bangs was an indication of amusement though, and after he swore up and down that he wouldn’t purchase lubricant from the front desk, Chuck finally released his death grip around his legs.

 

Chuck sat cross-legged on the bed with a pillow over his lap, twisting his hands over and over as Mike opened up the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. He didn’t mind being naked in front of Mike at this point—that was something that was no longer an issue after all that had happened. Yet, somehow he felt like he had to defend himself all of a sudden—the realization that he was going to have someone be inside of him wasn’t an unpleasant thought, just an unsettling and foreign one.

 

On one hand, he’s heard before that it feels awesome. On the other hand, he just really hadn’t ever considered it ever, _ever_ , and now it’s going to happen. Chuck wasn’t good with the unknown, which was why he wasn’t the adventurous one. Mike was the adventurous one, that’s why he’s the one always getting them into trouble. What if this becomes trouble? Oh gosh, oh gosh, oh gosh.

 

There was no denying that Chuck saw Mike half-jog into their large restroom, and that the sounds off him digging around in there didn’t at all sound hurried. He was back almost as soon as he left, a small bottle of what appeared to be some kind of body oil in hand.

 

“This will probably work—Chuckles, are you okay?” Mike worried as he joined Chuck on the bed. “Hey, now,” he tugged Chuck’s hands apart and kissed each of Chuck’s fingers carefully, “If you don’t want to do this, we don’t have to.”

 

“No, I want to!” Chuck blurted out, and then slapped a hand over his mouth with a mortified expression. Staring at him patiently, Mike’s mouth was a thin line.

 

“Th-this will work great!” he praised artificially, fumbling the bottle in the dim room. “Gosh, what is this?” he nervously read the label out loud and then pointed at the little, clear bottle, “Haven’t heard that brand before! Haha! Ahh-ha-ha- _ha_!” Shut up, Chuck, shut up!

 

Mike padded over to the light switch panel by the door and flicked on the lights. For a second, Chuck thought he looked angry when he turned around to face Chuck, who had curled up on the bed with the pillow hugged tightly against him. He never would have guessed what would happen next. Mike broke into a run—

 

_Thud thud thud thud thud!_

 

 —and then tackled Chuck into the bed, causing the bed’s springs to scream from the sudden impact. Chuck threw his hands up to cover his face, as he tended to do when he was terrified for his life, but stopped when he felt Mike roll them over so that Chuck was sitting on his lap.

 

Mike then placed both hands behind his head and smiled—the strain in it was there, but he was doing his best. “We’ll only do what you’re ready to do.”

 

“Ah, Mike, this is _really_ unnecessary!” fretted Chuck, hiding behind the pillow.

 

“No, it’s absolutely necessary. My needs are not more important than your needs.”

 

Chuck bit down into the pillow and nodded slowly. “Okay, so then what?”

 

“Well, let’s keep it fair then. Last time, I basically, ahem,” Mike shied away for a bit, thinking back to how he held Chuck down and fucked into his thighs until he came onto Chuck’s stomach, “… So I think this time, we’ll do what you want for your pleasure. Don’t worry about me.”

 

Sometimes Mike was too much, and it pissed him off. This was one of those moments. Chuck just needed to get eased into it—he wasn’t backing out at all, no way. If he really didn’t want to, he wouldn’t have been waiting on the bed, trying to work up the nerve to do it or else he’d be too tense to even start.

 

For being Kane’s most cherished cadet throughout the entire academy and also the famous leader of the Burners, Mike somehow had moments like this where his nice-ness was actually abrasive. Even if Mike was the one who would regularly coach Chuck about taking the initiative if he needed to, Chuck felt like throughout the past two days he had been the one steering Mike around the most.

 

“Mikey, you seriously need to lay off the ‘good guy’ thing sometimes or else you’re going to get your ass kicked.”

 

“I already do get my ass kicked for that, haha.”

 

“Yeah, but you’ll get your ass kicked _by me_ —which will be a first, I know, but sometimes…” he balled his hand up into a fist and glowered as menacingly as he could. Mike’s smile vanished as he considered Chuck’s fist in his face.

 

“If you apologize again, I’ll actually hit you,” Chuck warned, sniffing defiantly. “Now, hurry up and… and _fuck me_! I _want_ you to.” Chuck shoved the pillow into Mike’s stupidly handsome face.


	9. Chapter 9

His legs dangled off the edge of the bed, thighs to the side of Mike’s head.

 

“Mike, _slow down_ , pl-please,” mewled Chuck as he panted open-mouthed with his head turned to the side. Mike had made sure he was appropriately slicked up—the warm oil had been drizzled all over him, and Mike had used his calloused hands to massage the area so that Chuck could relax further.

 

Chuck knit his eyebrows together and hissed, feeling Mike ease his fingers out. One finger was fine—two wasn’t too bad, but three made his eyes sting with tears. It didn’t have to hurt, he knew that. Still, he’s Chuck in the end—panicking and freaking out are his usual default states.

 

The blonde breathed through the burn, fingers scrabbling desperately at the sheets around them, and tried to focus on Mike’s lips on his erection. His first time receiving head, and he wasn’t enjoying it properly because he was dead-set on getting Mike in him. Was it weird that he really, really wanted it? There was just something so erotic about it—he clenched around Mike’s fingers at the thought of Mike’s thick cock filling him up, and blushed.

 

Chuck wished it wasn’t so easy for him to get flustered—he couldn’t help it, though. He was so used to always making a fool of himself and being laughed at, that he expected to be ridiculed. Mike was the only one who never treated him like some kind of amusing monkey to mess with for entertainment—unlike the other people at the academy, or even sometimes with the Burners.

 

He could be himself around Mike, usually, without feeling like he would have to apologize for being Chuck. That’s right, Mike would never judge him or try to take advantage of his anxieties and insecurities.

 

“Chuckles?” Mike squeaked painfully—he was excruciatingly aware of the pre-cum dripping onto the floor from his neglected erection. He was so turned on it hurt, and he had felt himself bucking into the side of the bed whenever Chuck tightened up around his fingers. God, to be in there—to fuck Chuck’s tight, thin body. Mike was going mad with arousal.

 

“Mikey, I think… I know I’m ready, now,” he urged weakly, his blonde bangs sticking to his sweaty face.  His body was patchy with red skin as he laid back, legs splayed out messily and hands pulling his hair towards his chin. Hot. Titillating. Provoking Mike in all the right ways and places.

 

Shakily, Chuck sat up and pressed a hand against Mike’s chest, “Can I go at my own pace?”

 

“Of course,” soothed Mike, sitting on the bed beside Chuck to kiss his hair.

 

Gracelessly, Chuck climbed into Mike’s lap— and let Mike help guide him so that the head of Mike’s slippery cock was pressed right into the cleft. Mike snickered dryly and avoided eye contact when Chuck tried to search his face.

 

“W-what?” he faltered, wondering if he had messed up somehow already.

 

“Ah it’s just—I was thinking about what you said earlier. _Taking you ‘for a ride’_?”

 

Chuck whined, “Mikeeeeeey…”

 

“Right, sorry. Now’s not the time.”

 

Mike grabbed his erection at the base to steady it—hoping that those little actions would make things easier for Chuck—then nodded firmly. Smiling uneasily, Chuck took a deep breath and used his fingers to spread himself open, then sank down. He felt himself open up more when the head of Mike’s cock slipped into him, and Mike’s breathy moan sent shivers down his back. It was bearable, but Chuck knew from blowing Mike earlier that Mike’s dick was thicker around the middle. Mike’s hand on his hip was comforting, so Chuck took another deep breath and sank down further—crying out as he did. It felt like he was being torn apart, geez.

 

“ _Nnngh_ , Chuck—ease off if you need to,” Mike gasped, barely able to keep his eyes open as he felt the heat engulfing more than half of his throbbing cock. Chuck merely wriggled a bit in response, deeply focused on keeping his body relaxed as he felt the burning sensation grow from the fullness of Mike buried half in him. He shook his head, bangs swinging with the motion, and sat down completely—stopping only when he felt that he had taken Mike in down to the hilt.

 

“A-ahhh, Mike, Mikey—it’s, it’s _really deep_ ,” he sobbed waveringly, not quite sure if he was good to move up yet. No, he wasn’t quite there yet—it would be best to just adjust to the feeling of Mike Chilton’s big dick stretching him as wide as he’s ever been stretched. Good plan, he thought as he bit into his lower lip and felt his muscles loosen.

 

“Chuck, it feels _really_ good—god, you’re so fucking sexy,” purred Mike, practically licking his lips with lust—then Chuck fucking clenched, and Mike grunted low and deep. Chuck cursed and tentatively lifted his hips, choking Mike off inch by slow inch until he was just short of having Mike pull out of him completely. Mike watched him eagerly, hungrily, and Chuck felt the arousal ignite all the nerves in his body as Mike practically ate him up with his eyes. He lingered, calculated, considered, and then let himself go.

 

“Hold on, Chuck, don’t force yourself—“

 

With a loud slap, Chuck shoved Mike deep within himself again but this time—the hurt was mixed with pleasure, and he almost screamed from how good it was. He didn’t have to though, because Mike was crying out for him, completely caught off guard with Chuck’s bold move. He yelled profanities, and somewhere in his muffled, garbled speech as Chuck moved up and down—arms wrapped tightly around Mike’s neck—there was maybe an “I-love-you” mixed between the “holy-fuck,” “geez-wow,” and “oh-man.”

 

“Muh… Mikey,” he choked, then found his sweet spot and keened high and long. Chuck had meant to stop and let Mike take over, but he suddenly couldn’t—all he wanted to do was keep hitting that sweet, delicious spot over and over. He crashed, hard and completely, submitting himself to pleasure and pleasure alone.

 

“Chuck—I’m going to, _a-ah_!” For the second time that day, Mike ripped himself out of Chuck at the last moment, his entire being shaking from withholding his orgasm. Holding Chuck away from him at arm’s length, Mike swallowed carefully and tried to slow down his skyrocketing pulse.

 

“N-not until you come first,” Mike croaked. He scooped Chuck up, staggered, and then flipped them over on the bed so that the panting blond—whose messy hair curled up around his neck and face as he squirmed underneath Mike—was situated under him. Wrapping Chuck’s shaking legs around his waist, Mike stood by the side of the bed and flinched when he prodded Chuck’s stretched hole with the tip of his erection—causing Chuck to groan impatiently with need. “Let _me_ make you come this time, Chuckles.”


	10. Chapter 10

His hips rolled continuously, each hitch causing Chuck to cry out in new, different ways. Mouth hanging open, Mike licked his lips and felt the twinges of lust make him shudder.

 

“Oh, oh, oh, M-Mikey, _nnnff_!” Chuck was a mess underneath him, back rubbed raw as Mike slapped into him harder and harder—the speed and intensity overwhelming him as he was swallowed up by all the sensations he felt. There was already a delectable feeling of fullness that made his cock weep pre-cum—but the thrusts, deeper and deeper, were driving him crazy. He felt electrified when Mike would crack up—unfinished words tumbling out of his mouth—like he was broken whenever Chuck clenched, Mike’s body tensing and fingers digging painfully into Chuck’s now clawed hips.

 

That was the best and worst parts of it for Mike, when he was practically strangled by Chuck’s panicked reactions to being fucked mercilessly. He felt himself shoving through, grunting, head swimming with how good Chuck felt tightening around him—he was sure he would blow each time, but miraculously got through by slowing down. This was to both of their benefits as they caught their breaths, but Chuck would _plead for more_.

 

“H-harder, Mike, please, _harder_. I want this, I want you to fuck me. God, Mike, Mikey—“

 

He was almost past being embarrassed at this point—he craved more even if it made him feel like a dirty slut. Mike was a pleasure seeker who thought he was alone in his endeavors to find his next adrenaline-fuelled high—but maybe now they stumbled upon Chuck’s drug. There was so much affection in how Mike would kiss Chuck’s knee, sob his name, and hastily grab his hand to squeeze and squeeze and squeeze it—as if trying to show Chuck how it made him feel, buried hot and deep. That was the addicting part of it, for Chuck. The attention—how Mike responded so breathlessly to every detail of Chuck—was devastating but so full of love and adoration.

 

Pawing blindly, desperately at Mike’s sweaty chest, Chuck blubbered, “Muh-Mikey, Mike, Mike please I’m-so-close- _please_!” His words dripped with want and anguish.

 

Nodding shakily, Mike hitched Chuck’s legs up and propped his own knee onto the edge of the bed. He slid into Chuck—his slippery entrance was fully stretched, allowing Mike to easily maneuver into him without so much as a shove—moaning all the way, and the new angle was so—

 

“Oh-my-god-oh-my-god—“

 

He was practically embedded into Chuck, and Chuck felt his legs quake violently with exhaustion from being tensed up for so long. He wanted to laugh and cry and maybe even sing all at once—he didn’t know what to do with himself anymore. Then Mike started up a new rhythm—just as fast and unyielding as before—and the fucking _obscene_ sounding slaps of skin against skin made Chuck want to hide.

 

Mike pumped—his arms beside Chuck’s head now—and he could feel that Chuck was about to cum. Adjusting the angle to be more severe, Mike thumbed Chuck’s scarlet-stained cheeks and crooned, “Come for me, Chuck—please, I _need_ to see you cum, and don’t look away.”

 

That was fucking _it_ for Chuck—he broke down, dissolving into a shuddering, sobbing mess with Mike’s eyes locked onto his face.

 

“Mike, I’m, I’m— _ahhhh_!” The angle that Mike had forced them both into made Chuck cum all over his chest and neck—the hot, slippery globs of cum dripping and pooling into his collar bone. Mike rolled his hips down and forward, fucking the orgasm out of Chuck—and he felt like he was going to die when he saw Chuck’s last spurt splash onto Chuck’s own chin. It was so dirty, naughty—he wanted to see this side of Chuck again and again.

 

“F-fuck, Chuck, you’re _so hot_ I-I can’t…” Mike came—blinded by his own orgasm that made his body tense up like a taut cable—and Chuck fucking felt it. In his post-orgasm daze, he marveled at how he could feel Mike’s cock throbbing, buried within him as he _pumped_ his seed into him. The pulsing sensation made him whine and his toes curl.

 

Collapsing on top of him, Mike didn’t care about the sticky mess he was getting them into. He always got them into messes, what’s one more? Searching with his mouth, Mike kissed and kissed Chuck’s face.

 

“No, Mike, it’s d-dirty!” Mike didn’t care though—fueled by the love and lust he felt for his best friend, he lapped Chuck’s face clean. The cooling cum was bitter and salty, but it didn’t bother him. He relished Chuck’s embarrassed yelps and little complaining noises.

 

They laid there, until the stars left their heads.

 

“I’m going to pull out now,” warned Mike, mouthing Chuck’s ear.

 

“Mmmhmmm,” Chuck yawned, exhausted.

 

Mike’s half-limp dick slipped out messily, and he dizzily noticed that his cum was leaking out of Chuck’s stretched hole and onto the sheets. There was no hiding what they used the room for from Rayon—then again, they had been fucking wildly on the bed for the past hour.

 

“Chuck?”

 

“Mmyeah?,” he responded sleepily, rubbing his eyes with a satisfied smile on his face. Cute.

 

“Let’s go to bed.”


	11. Chapter 11

“Ladies, where are you guys?”

 

“Mike, Mike, we need your help!”

 

“Guys!”

 

Chuck fell off the bed in a tumble of sheets, yells garbled by the fabric. Oh, right—they’ll only be able to see their chat squares. A video conference hadn’t been opened up. Throwing himself onto his feet, Mike sprung into action immediately—he was trained for this, there was no other way for him to wake from the pleas for assistance. “I’m on it—what’s going on, team?” He jogged to the bathroom and stopped at the door. Mike double backed to grab the bundle of Chuck.

 

“Kane bots, and _lots_ of them,” Julie’s familiar cat icon floated in the air, glowing green, “They’ll be at the South Gate in about an hour. I just found out, and am on my way back. Where are you guys?”

 

Mike turned on the water—shower this time, he noted as he yanked on the spout—and shook Chuck out of the sheets.

 

“From the looks of Mutt’s locator, Rayon’s?” Dutch added quickly, “Hey, everyone get back to the garage as fast as you can—I’ll tune up all the cars pronto.”

 

Chuck screamed, but the rest of the Burners paid no mind to it. It was normal. He collected himself with a whimper but shot Mike a seething look. Shrugging sheepishly, Mike stuck his tongue out at Chuck.

 

“Oh, oh, Dutch—while you’re at it, can you add—“

 

Throwing his leg over the tub’s edge, Mike wrapped himself around Chuck and sighed happily.

 

“ _Now’s not the time_ , Texas!” Julie cut him off, causing Texas’ chat square to pout, “Anyway, rendezvous ASAP! Gotta drive.”

 

Everything was as it should be. All was perfect in Mike’s world, for a few minutes.


	12. Chapter 12

“Muh-haha _haaaaa_ —Mikey!!! Slow down, or you’ll get us killed before I finish disarming these little dudes!”

  
It had been two weeks since they started going out. He turned the thought over in his head calmly while drifting through a tight turn, causing the bots that were following them to crash into the cement wall he had used as a makeshift driving lane.

 

The clickety-clack of Chuck hacking into the rest of the fleet—hundreds and hundreds of little bots that had descended upon them in a cloud from Deluxe— was comforting to Mike, as Chuck tried his best to try to make the bots do anything but kill them.

 

“Yes, _got it_! Whoohoo!” Chuck threw his arms up in relief a bit too excitedly—his fists cracked against Mutt’s hood and he withdrew them quickly, sputtering in pain.

 

While the bots didn’t power off, they at least stopped shooting at them. This was Mike’s cue. He spun Mutt around—tires squealing—and trained all of their blasters on the disoriented cluster of bots whose laser cannons stopped responding.

 

There was the sharp sound of air being sucked into their largest blaster, followed by a piercing shriek as a bright, deadly beam cut through the packs of floating bots.

 

Dutch’s voice crackled over the communicator, “We’re good on this side! Took all three of us to take out the mega-hounds, but it’s done. Did you guys finish with the pests?”

 

“They’re controlled,” clucked Mike, as he jerked back one of the levers on his right to switch guns.

 

“Great! Regroup at Antonio’s? Texas is hungry!”

 

“Haha, sure. See you guys in ten!”

 

Always working, Chuck was busy deactivating the remainder of the bots. They’ll run out of juice eventually, and it would be more efficient to turn them off outright instead of shooting them all down. At least they were able to buy them both enough time to do this by getting rid of the bots’ offense systems.

 

Looking over his shoulder, Mike drove backwards to give them more distance—letting the auto-targeting software do its job with the smaller guns on the sides of Mutt. He used the recoil to propel them farther and farther away, until the closest bot was a small speck.

 

“Please work, please work, _please work_ ,” pleaded Chuck, who shut his eyes before he ran the last line of code.

 

Though they could no longer see the bots, the hollow, metallic clattering of thousands of metal boxes streaming down from the sky was enough to let them know that Chuck’s master programming was still top-notch.

 

“Just to be safe, though,” Mike insisted, turning the car back around to go examine the pile of dead bots. Chuck used his sleeve to dab the sweat off his forehead, laughing exhaustedly under his breath—he was going to live for a few more hours. There was pizza in his future.

 

When they got there, Mike climbed out of Mutt through the window. Chuck had a couple of tools in his belt to inspect the bots for salvageable parts, but he waited for Mike’s okay first. He checked if the coast was clear—the mountain of rectangle-shaped mini-bots was without movement. Still, didn’t hurt to be safe.

 

Mike toed one that had landed nearby, and it didn’t do anything. Its red light was gone.

 

“They look a lot smaller when dead—like spiders!” he joked, picking it up to turn in his hands. It was still warm, but definitely deactivated. Behind him, he heard Chuck crack open the case of one and peek inside with a small, handheld light.

 

“These are older models,” sighed Chuck. Useless to their cars, but possibly useful for Motorcitizens—they could always use some material to make the crumbling wasteland more home-y. He heard Chuck send a message to Jacob for a grab-it-and-go job. Sasquatch and Stronghorn would be the best choices when it came to hauling, but first they needed to get the equipment from the base. That could wait though.

 

“What do you think we can do with it?”

 

“I don’t know, I think we could probably make a million toasters?” Chuck always laughed at his own lame jokes, and he tossed the bot onto the pile. “Dutch might have more ideas than me, I’m the programmer after all—this is more of his expertise.” Mike kicked the gravel up around them.

 

“Thanks for the help back there, buddy.”

 

“Aw, don’t sweat it. I’m always here for you, Mikey,” Chuck babbled, pleased with himself as he slipped his portable tools back into their hiding places. He ran a hand through his hair, and Mike could see the pink on the tips of his ears again.

 

He drew Chuck close to him, pressing their chests together, and tilted his head up to kiss the taller Burner. It was short—they had about five minutes to get to Antonio’s before Texas would start clogging up their communicators with panicked questions about where they were at. Eager, that one.

 

Hugging Chuck, Mike tucked his head over Chuck’s shoulder and breathed in. They both smelled like burnt hair, dirt, and motor oil—but that was okay. Underneath all that, there was the warm scent of Chuck. Wrapping his arms around Mike’s head, Chuck sighed happily and pushed his nose into Mike’s hair.

 

Things were different now. Mike caught himself thinking that he’d wish Kane would take more breaks, so that he and Chuck could have a few days to themselves again. He’d tap the clock off right before it went off in the morning, same as before, but then look over at the sleeping figure beside him with a twinge of sadness. Mike would give Chuck a few extra minutes of sleep every morning, and he’d think about how nice it’d be to go explore that mossy house again. He felt melancholic longing for those months before they started their all-out war against Deluxe, when they just went around after work to experience whatever Motorcity could offer them.

 

“Mikey,” Chuck fussed, loosening his grip.

 

“Hmm?”

 

“We gotta go.”

 

“I know.” He pressed a quick kiss against Chuck’s neck, and then laced their fingers together when they stepped apart. Chuck worked his teeth on his lips, smiling. How he wanted to laze around with Chuck again—spending days doing nothing but enjoying each other’s company without any distractions. Still, pockets of time alone were not bad.

 

“You want to ride in my lap?”

 

“What? No!”

 

Mike turned his head and mischievously grinned at Chuck, dragging Chuck’s hips forward with a finger through his denim belt loop. Sweating, Chuck’s face was instantly red. He searched Chuck’s pout for an answer, relishing the intensifying glow of Chuck’s embarrassment. Eventually, Chuck relented.

 

“…Yes.”

 

Laughing, Mike hooked his arm under Chuck’s knees and carried him back to Mutt.

 

“I’m going to have to drive pretty fast, feel free to cling to me as much as you’d like,” he goaded, ducking when Chuck tried to lazily shove his face away. These little moments were enough for now.

**Author's Note:**

> I realized after I wrote the fic from looking at environment art from the show that Jacob's Place was hidden away in a large, abandoned building of some kind. Before that, I hadn't paid close enough attention while watching the show to notice that-- though upon reviewing some of the earlier episodes I can recognize that the camera did pan over elements of Jacob's Place that suggested it was inside a huge building, away from sight. As a result, in the story I describe Jacob's place as being on an open road far away from local towns that was accessible to civilians who needed help from the Burners or just wanted to try some of Jacob's fine dining.


End file.
